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INICOMACHEAN ETHICS
or
ARISTOTLE
TRASSt.ATED BT
¥. H. PBTEBS, M.A.
NOTE TO THE READER
The paper in this volume is brittle or the
inner margins are extremely narrow.
We have bound or rebound the volume
utiUzing the best means possible.
PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE
General Bookbinding Co.. CH^s^^H^-^■«^-C>v.\'a
THE
NICOMACHEAN ETHICS
#
or
ARISTOTLE
TRANSLATED BT
F. H. PETEES, M.A.
VSXXOW OV DVIVKB8ITT OQLLIOB, OXFUAO
THZBD BDinOK
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TBENCH & CO., 1, PATEBNOSTEB SQUARE
1836
H
LIBRARY
OF THE
LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR
UNIVERSITY.
■■MiP9»aa
^Hb^-
PREFACE.
-•o^
A TRANSLATION of a work so well known as Aristotle's
Ethics scarcely needs any preface. It might perhaps
seem superfluous to do again what has already been
done so often ; but every one who is acquainted with
the extant English translations knows that, valuable
as they are, they leave much to be desired. I am quite
conscious that the version which is now offered to the
public is still very far from being adequate; yet I
venture to hope that it may do something towards
supplying an acknowledged want, and that it may be
of some service to those who (whether they be scholars
or not) wish to know what the greatest thinker of
antiquity has to say upon a subject which is of such
a nature that what a great man of any age says upon
it is usually of more permanent value than what he
says on any other subject.
I have, of course, made free use of other trans-
IV PBEFACB.
lators and commentators, and wish here to make a
full acknowledgment of my obligations.
But I must more particularly express my thanks
to my friends Mr. A. C. Bradley and Mr. J. Cook
Wilson, the former of whom has been kind enough
to read the whole of the proof sheets, and the latter
a large portion of them. To both, and especially to
the former, I am indebted for many valuable sug-
gestions. But, as I have sometimes persisted in my
own opinion in spite of their dissent, the reader must
not hold them responsible for any of the errors he
may detect.
The notes perhaps require some apology; they
may appear to be too many for footnotes to a
translation, but they are certainly too few for a
regular commentary, leaving without explanation
many points that much need it. But if this transla-
tion should meet with any favour, I purpose before
long to follow it up with an Introduction, in which
I shall hope to some extent to make good this de-
ficiency.
F. H. P.
OxFOBD, February, 1881.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
to*
This edition is substantially the same as the first,
though a great many slight alterations have been
made.
I have to thank my reviewers in general, and in
particular Mr. J. A. Stewart of Christ Church (who
reviewed the first edition in Mind, July, 1881), for
much kindly criticism and many valuable suggestions.
Where their suggestions have not been adopted, I
trust they will believe that my persistence is due
neither to carelessness nor to unwillingness to learn,
but to the fact that after full consideration I find
myself unable to agree with them.
An Introduction, promised in the Preface to the
first edition, is, I regret to say, not yet finished ; but
I still hope to publish it before long.
I omitted in the first edition to state that I have
in the main followed Bekker's text (Betlm, \%4t^^, ^csA
VI PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
that when I have departed from it I have generally
notified the fact ; that the chapters and sections are
those of Zell ; and that whenever I have inserted in
the text explanatory words of my own, I have
enclosed them in square brackets thus [ ].
F. H. P.
Oxford, Februaryf 1884«
NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
*C*
In this edition a few clerical errors have been
corrected, and the wording of one or two passages
has been improved. No other change has been made.
F. H. P.
Plas HfeN, Cbiooteth, Nokth Wales,
November, 1885.
CONSPECTUS.
aooK
Of the good or the end I.
Of moral yirtne in general IL
Of the will ... ... ... ••• ••• HI. 1-6.
Of the several moral Tirtaes and vice.s ... III. 6-€nd of V-
Of the intellectual virtues VL
Of forms of moral character other than virtue
or vice VII. 1-10.
First account of pleasure VII. 11-end.
Of friendship or love VITI. and IX.
Second account of pleasure X. 1-5.
Conclusion ••• ••• X. 6-€nd.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
to*
BOOK t
THE END.
CHAP. PAOB
1. In all he does man seeks some good as end or means ••• 1
2. The end is the good ; our subject is this and its science,
Jx OllVlCS ••• ••• .*•• ••• ••• ••• ••• ^
8. Exactness not permitted by subject, nor to be expected by
student, who needs experience and training 3
W 4. Men agree that the good is happiness, but differ as to what
this is. We must reason from facts accepted without
question by the man of trained character 5
6. The good cannot be pleasure, as some hold, nor honour, nor
VlxliUv ••• ••• ••• ••• «•• ••• ••• O
6. Various arguments to show against the Platoni>ts that there
cannot be one universal good: even if there were it
would not help us here 8
7. The good is the final end, and happiness is this. To find it
we ask, What is man's function ? Eesulting definition
of happiness 12
3. This view harmonizes various current views 18
9. Is happiness acquired, or the gift of Gods or chance? ... 22
10. Can no man be called happy during life? 23
11. Cannot the fortunes of survivors affect the dead ? 27
12. Happiness as absolute end is above praise 28
18. Division of the faculties and resulting division of the virtues 30
TABLE OP CONTENTS.
BOOK 11.
MORAL VIRTUE.
CHAP. PAGB
1. Moral virtue is acquired by the repetition of the corre-
sponding acts ... ... ..« ... ••• ••• 34
2. These acts must be such as reason prescribes ; they cannot
be defined exactly, but must be neither too much nor
lOo iii/iie •.. ••• •.» ... •.* ••• ••• *^^
8. Virtue is in various ways concerned with pleasuie and
pstiii ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •• • ••• •••
4. The conditions of virtuous action as distinct from artistic
production ••• ••• ... .*. ... ... ... 41
6. Virtue not an emotion, nor a faculty, but a trained faculty
or na di v ... ... .•« ••« ... ... ... *^
6. Viz. the habit of choosing the mean 43
-7. This must be applied to the several virtues 48
8. The two vicious extremes are opposed to one another and to
the intermediate virtue ... 52
9. The mean is hard to hit, and is a mutter of perception not
of reasoning... ••• ... 55
38
BOOK III.
Ohaptbbs 1-6. THE WILL.
1. An act is involuntary when done (a) under compulsion, or .
(6) through ignorance : (a) means not originated by doer,
(6) means through ignorance of the circumstances:
voluntary, then, means originated with knowledge of
circumstances 58
2. Purpose, a mode of will, means choice after deliberation ... 66
8. « We deliberate on what we can do — not on ends, but means 68
4. We wish for the end, the real or apparent good 72
5. Virtue and vice are alike voluntary : our acts are our own ;
for we are punished for them : ignorance is no excuse
when due to negligence : if this be our character, we have
made it by repeated acts : even bodily vices are blam-
able when thus formed. We cannot plead that our
TABLE OP CONTENTS. Xi
CHAP. PAGI
notion of good depends on our nature ; for (1) vice would
still be as voluntary as virtue, (2) we help to make our-
selves wDa« we are**« ••• ••• •«• ••• ••• /«
Chapters 6-12. THE SEVERAL MOBAL VIBTUES
AND VICES.
6. Of courage and the opposite vices 80
7. Of courage — continued 82
8. Of courage improperly so called 85
9. How courage involves both pain and pleasure 89
10. Of temperance 91
11. Of temperance — continued 93
12. How profligacy is more voluntary than oowordice 96
BOOK IV.
THE BATHE— Continued,
1. Of liberality ,..* ... 99
2. Of magnificence 108
^'^. Of high-mindedness ... 113
4. Of a similar virtue in smaller matters 120
5. Of gentleness 122
6. Of agreeableness 125
7. Of truthfulness 127
8. Ofwittiness 131
9. 0/ the feeling of shame 133
BOOK V.
THE SAWS^Concluded, JUSTICE.
1. Preliminary. Two senses of justice distinguished. Of
justice (1) = obedience to law, = complete virtue ... 136
2. Of justice (2) = fairness, how related to justice (1). What
is just in distribution distinguished from what is just
in correction ... ... ... ... ... ••• 140
XU TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAP. PACK
8. Of what is just in distribution, and its rule of geometrical
proportion ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 144
4. Of what is just in correction, and its rule of arithmetical
proportion 147
5. Simple requital is not identical with what is just, but pro-
portionate requital is what is just in exchange ; and this
is eflfected by means of money. We can now give a
general definition of justice (2) 1 52
6. (It is possible to act unjustly without being unjust.) That
which is just in the strict sense is between citizens
only, for it implies law 160
7. It is in part natural, in part conventional 163
8. The internal conditions of a just or unjust action, and of a
just or unjust agent 165
8. Sundry questions about doing and suffering injustice ... 169
10. Of equity 174
11. Can a man wrong himself ? 176
BOOK VI.
THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES.
1. Must be studied because (a) reason prescribes the mean,
(b) they are a part of human excellence. The intel-
lect is (1 ) scientific, (2) calculative : we want the virtue
oi eacu ••• •.• ... ... •.. ... ... loU
2. The function of the intellect, both in practice and specula-
tion, is to attain truth 182
8. Of the five modes of attaining truth : (1) of demonstrative
science of things unalterable ... ... 184
4. Of knowledge of things alterable, viz. (2) of art in what we
maK6 ••• ••• •*. •*. *•• ... ««« XoO
5. And (3) of prudence in what we do, the virtue of the calcula-
tive intellect 186
6. (4} Of intuitive reason as the basis of demonstrative science 189
7. (5) Of wisdom as the union of science and intuitive reason.
Comparison of the two intellectual virtues, wisdom and
prudence ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 190
^ 8. Prudence compared with statesmanship and cither forms of
knowledge ••• #•• •• •• ••• ••• 192
TABLE OP CONTENTS. Xiu
yCHAP. TAQW
9. Of deliberation , ... 195
''10. Of intelligence 198
vll. Of judgment Of reason or intuitiye perception as the
basis of the practical intellect 199
13. Of the uses of wisdom and prudence. How prudence is
related to cleverness 202
J 18. How prudence is related to moral virtue ... ... ... 205
BOOK VIL
Chaptkbs 1-10. CHABACTERS OTHEB THAN
VIBTUE AND VICE.
1. Of continence and incontinence, heroic virtue and brutality.
Of method. Statement of opinions about continence 208
2. Statement of difficulties as to how one can know right and
do wrong ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 210
8. Solution : to know has many senses ; in what sense such a
man knows ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 214
4. Of incontinence in the strict and in the metaphorical sense 220
5. Of incontinence in respect of brutal or morbid appetites ... 224
6. Incontinence in anger less blamed than in appetite ... 227
7. Incontinence yields to pleasure, softness to pain. Two
kinds of incontinence, the hasty and the weak ... 230
8. Incontinence compared with vice and viitue ... ... 23
9. Continence and incontinence not identical with keeping
and breaking a resolution 235
10. Prudence is not, but cleverness is, compatible with in-
continence ... ... ... ... ... _ ••• ..« 237
Chaptebs 11-14. PLEASURE.
11. Wo must now discuss pleasure. Opinions about it ... 239
12. Answers to arguments against goodness of pleasure.
Ambiguity of good and pleasant. Pleasure not a tran-
sition, but unimpeded activity 240
13. Pleasure is good, and the pleasure that consists in the
highest activity is the good. All admit that happiness
is pleasant. Bodily pleasures not the only pleasures 243
14. Of the bodily pleasures* and the distinction between natur-
ally and accidentally pleasant 246
XIV TABLE OF OONTENXa
BOOK VIII.
FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE.
CHAP. PAOB
1. Uses of friendship. DifTereDces of opinion about it ... 251
2. Three motives of friendship. Friendship defined 253
8. Three kinds of friendship corresponding to the three
motives. Perfect friendship is that whose motive is the
^uuu ••» •*• ... ••• ««« .«. ... .«« ^do
4. The others are imperfect copies of this 258
5. Intercourse necessary to the maintenance of friendship ... 260
6. Impossible to have many true friends 262
7. Of friendship between unequal persons, and its rule of pro-
portion. Limits within which this is possible 265
8. Of loving and being loved 267
9. Every society has its own form of friendship as of justice.
All societies are summed up in civil society 269
10. Of the three forms of constitution 271
11. Of the corresponding forms of friendship 274
12. Of the friendship of kinsmen and comrades 276
18. Of the terms of interchange and quarrels hence arising in
equal friendships 279
14. Of the same in unequal friendships 283
BOOK IX.
FBIENDSHIP OB JjOYE—Contintied,
1. Of the rule of proportion in dissimilar friendships ...
2. Of the conflict of duties
8. Of the dissolution of friendships
4. A man's relation to his friend like his relation to himself
5. Friendship and good-will
6. Friendship and unanimity
7. Why benefactors love more than they are loved
8. In what sense it is right to love one's self ...
9. Why a happy man needs friends
10. Of the proper number of friends
11. Friends needed both in prosperity and adversity
12. Friendship is realized in living together
•••
286
289
292
294
297
299
300
303
307
312
314
316
TABLE OF CONTENTS. XV
BOOK X
Chapters 1-6. PLEASURR
CHAP. PAOK
1. Beasons for discussing pleasure 818
2. Arguments of Eudoxus that pleasure is the good 819
8. Argument that it is not a quality; that it is not deter-
mined ; that it is a motion or coming into being. Plea-
sures differ in kind 822
4. Pleasure defined : its relation to activity 825
5. Pleasures differ according to the activities. The standard
is the good man ... ... 830
Chapters 6-9. CONCLUSION.
6. Happiness not amusement, but life 835
7. Of the speculative life as happiness in the highest sense ... 837
8. Of the practical life as happiness in a lower sense, and of
the relation between the two. Prosperity, how far
neecieu ... ... ... ... ..• ... ... o^x
9. How is the end to be realized ? ... 846
/
THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF
AEISTOTLE.
BOOK r.
THE END.
1 1. Evert art and every kind of inquiry, and like- aob**.
wise every act "and purpose, seeins. to aim at some«»"w^ood
good : and so it has been well said that the good is «>«an«.
that at which everything aims.
2 But a difference is observable Q*mong these aims or
ends. What is aimed at is sometimes the exercise of
a faculty, sometimes a certain result beyond that
exercise. And where there is an end beyond the act,
there the result is better than the exercise of the
faculty.
3 Now since there are many kinds of actions and
many arts and sciences, it follows that there are many
ends also ; e.g, health is the end of medicine, ships
of shipbuilding, victory of the art of war, and wealth
of economy.
4 But when several of these are subordinated to
B
2 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. L
some one art or science, — as the making of bridles and
other trappings to the art of horsemanship, and this
in turn, along with all else that the soldier does, to the
art of war, and so on, — then the end of the master-art
is always more desired than the ends of the subordinate
arts, since these are pursued for its sake. And this is 5
equally true whether the end in view be the mere
exercise of a faculty or something beyond that, as in
the above instances.
send is 2. If then in what we do there be some end which i
^S^t 18 we wish for on its own account, choosing all the others •
tcience as mcaus to this, but not every end without exception
*"' as a means to something else (for so we should go on
ad infinitum, and desire would be left void and
objectless), — ^this evidently will be the good or the
best of aU things.
And surely from a practical point of view it much 2
concerns us to know this good ; for then, like archers
shooting at a definite mark, we shall be more likely
to attain what we want.
If this be so, we must try to indicate roughly what 8
it is, and first of aU to which of the arts or sciences it
belongs.
It would seem to belong to the supreme art or '4
science, that one which most of all deserves the name
of master-art or master-science.
Now Politics* seems to answer to this description.. 6
• To Aristotle Politics is a mncli wider term than to ns; it
covers the whole field of hnman life, since man is essentially social
(7f 6) ; it has to determine (1) what is the good ? — the question of
this treatise (§ 9). — and (2) what can law do to promote this good ? —
the question of the seqnel, which is speciallj called "The Politics :''
c/. X. 9.
1, 5-8. 4.] THE END. 3
For it prescribes which of the sciences a state needs,
and which each man shall study, and up to what
6 point ; and to it we see subordinated even the highest
arts, such as economy, rhetoric, and the art of war.
Since then it makes use of the other practical
sciences, and since it further ordains what men are
to do and from what to refrain, its end must include }•
the ends of the others, and must be the proper good of /■
man.
8 For though this good is the same for the individual
and the state, yet the good of the state seems a grander
and more perfect thing both to attain and to secure ;
and glad as one would be to do this service for a
single individual, to do it for a people and for a
number of states is nobler and more divine.
9 This then is the aim of the present inquiry, which
is a sort of political inquiry.*
1 • 3. We must be content if we can attain to so much EMetneu
precision in our statement as the subject before us muted bjf
, tuMtct nor
admits of : for the same deeree of accuracy is no more ^ expeet4a
to be expected in all kinds of reasoning than in all ^f^needt
kinds of manufacture. <»«<« .
2 Now what is noble and just (with which Politics
deals) is so various and so uncertain, that some think
these are merely conventional and not natural dis-
tinctions.
3 There is a similar uncertainty also about what is
good, because good things often do people harm : men
have before now been ruined by wealth, and have
lost their lives through courage.
4 Our subject, then, and our data being of this
* i,e, oovers a part of the ground onl^ : see preceding note.
^ t
u
4 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. L
nature^ we must be content if we can indicate the
truth roughly and in outline, and if, in dealing with
matters that are not amenable to immutable laws, and
reasoning from premises that are but probable, wo
can arrive at probable conclusions.*
The reader, on his part, should take each of my
statements in the same spirit ; for it is the mark of
an educated man to require, in each kind of inquiry,
just so much exactness as the subject admits of: it is
equally absurd to accept probable reasoning from a
mathematician, and to demand scientific proof from an
\orator.
But each man can form a judgment about what he 5
. knows, and is called " a good judge " of that — of any
special matter when he has received a special educa-
tion therein, ''a good judge " (without any qualifying
ly' epithet) when he has received a universal education.
And hence a young man is not qualified to be a
student of Politics; for he lacks experience of the
' afiairs of life, which form the data and the subject-
matter of Politica
Further, since he is apt to be swayed by his 6
feelings, he will derive no benefit from a study whose
aim is not speculative but practical
But in this respect young in character counts the 7
same as young in years ; for the yoimg man's dis-
qualification is not a matter of time, but is due to the
fact that feeling rules his life and directs all his
desires. Men of this character turn the knowledge
• The expression tA &s iwl rh xoA^ ooyers both (1) what is gene-
rally thongh not nniversallj tme, and (2) what is probable though
aet certain*
} aotioQs of the good or happiness, it
mdge, aa wo reasonably may, Iroin their
' 3 masses, who are the least refined, hold
ire, ajid so accept the life of enjoyment
B most conspicuous kinds of life are three :
t enjoyment, the life of the statesman, and,
B contemplative life.
Binass of men show themselves utterly alaviali
p preference for the life of brute beasts, but
; receive consideration because many of
1 high places have the tastes of Sardanapalus.
■en of retinement with a practical turn prefer
; for I suppose we may say that honour i^ the
^ of the statesman's Ufe.
f But this seeina too superficial to be the good we
B seelcing : for it appears to depend upon those who
pve rather than upon those who receive it ; while wo
lave a presentiment that the good is something that^
I peculiarly a man's own and can scarce be taken
[ away from him.
Moreover^ these men seem to pursue honoiir in
order that they may be assured of their own
excellence, — at least, they wish to be honoured by
men of sense, and by those who know them, and on
tlis ground of their virtue or excellence. It is plain,
ihen, that ia their view, at any rate, virtue or excellence
6 is better than honour ; and perhaps we should takd
this to be the end of the statesman's life, rather than
honour.
But virtue or excellence also appears too ii
plete to be what we want ; for it seems that i
6 NICOMACHEAN IJTHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. L
it But we must hot omit to notice the distinction 6
J-, that is drawn between the method of proceeding from
ition your starting-points or principles, and the method of
%ed working up to them. Plato used with fitness to raise
this question, and to ask whether the right way ig
from or to your starting-points, as in the race-course
you may run from the judges to the boundary, or vice
versa.
Well, we must start from what is known.
But "what is known" may mean two things:
'* what IS known to us," which is one thing, or *' what ^
is known " simply, which is another.
I think it is safe to say that we must start from
what is known to its.
And on this account nothing but a good moral 6
training can qualify a man to study what is noble
and just — in a word, to study questions of Politics.
For the undemonstrated fact is here the starting-
point, and if this undemonstrated fact be suf-
ficiently evident to a man, he will not require a
" reason why." Now the man who has had a good
moral training either has already arrived at starting-
points or principles of action, or will easily accept
them when pointed out. But he who neither has them
nor will accept them may hear what Hesiod says * —
" The best is he who of himself doth know ;
Good too is he who listens to the wise ;
Bnt he who neither knows himself nor heeds
The words of others, is a useless man."
i 6. Let US now take up the discussion at the point i
^nor from which we digressed.
tfwr
• « Works and Days," 291-295.
4, 6-6, 6.] THE END. 7
As to men's notions of the good or happiness, it
seems (to judge, as we reasonably may, from their
2 lives) that the masses, who are the least refined, hold
it to be pleasure, and so accept the life of enjoyment
as their ideal.
For the most conspicuous kinds of life are three :
this life of enjoyment, the life of the statesman, and,
thirdly, the contemplative life.
3 The mass of men show themselves utterly slavish
in their preference for the life of brute beasts, but
their views receive consideration because many of
those in high places have the tastes of Sardanapalus.
4 Men of refinement with a practical turn prefer'^
honour ; for I suppose we may say that honour is the
aim of the statesman s life.
But this seems too superficial to be the good we
are seeking : for it appears to depend upon those who
give rather than upon those who receive it ; while wo
have a presentiment that the good is something that ^
is peculiarly a man's own and can scarce be taken
away from him.
5 Moreover, these men seem to pursue honour in
order that they may be assured of their own
excellence, — at least, they wish to be honoured by
men of sense, and by those who know them, and on
the ground of their virtue or excellence. It is plain,
then, that in their view, at any rate, virtue or excellence
6 is better than honour ; and perhaps we should take
this to be the end of the statesman's life, rather than
honour.
But virtue or excellence also appears too income
plete to be what we want; for it seems that a man
I
8 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP AEIBTOTLE. [Bn. T.
might have virtue and yet Tjo asleep or be inactive
all Ills life, and, moreover, might meet with the
greatest disasters and misfortunes ; and no one would
maintain that such a man is happy, except for
argument's sake. But we will not dwell on these
matters now, for they are sufficiently discussed in the
popular treatises.
The third kind of life is the life of contemplation: 7
we will treat of it further on."
Aa for the money-making life, it is something
quite contrary to nature ; and wealth evidently is not
the good of which we are in search, for it is merely
useful as a means to something else. So we might
rather take pleasure and virtue or excellenco to he
ends than wealth ; for they are chosen on their own
account. But it seems that not even they are the
end, though much breath has been wasted in attempts^
to show that they are. '^
!,m fl. Dismissing these views, then, we have now to
u^in.i consider the "universal good," and to state the diffi-
Mm cultics which it presents ; though such an inquiry is
tunf- not a pleasant task in view of our friendship for the
authors of the doctrine of ideas. But wo venture to
think that this is tlie right course, and that in the
interests of truth we ought to sacrifice even what
is nearest to us, especially as we call ourselves philo-
sophers. Both are dear to us, but it is a sacred duty
to give the preference to truth.
In the first place, the authors of this theory them-
selves did not assert a common idea in the case of
tilings of which one is prior to the other; and for this
• CS. VI. 7, 12, and S. 7, 8.
6, 7-6, 6.J THE END. 9
reason they did not hold one common idea of numbers.
Now the predicate good^ applied to substances and
also to qualities and relations. But that which has
independent existence, what we call "substance/* is
logically prior to that which is relative ; for the latter
is an offshoot as it were, or [in logical language] an
accident of a thing or substance. So [by their own
showing] there cannot be one common idea of these
goods.
8 Secondly, the term good is used in as many
different ways as the term *' is " or " being ;" we apply
the term to substances or independent existences, as
God, reason ;, to qualities, as the virtues ; to quantity,
as the moderate or due amount ; to relatives, as the
useful ; to time, as opportunity ; to place, as habitation,
and so on. It is evident, therefore, that the word good
cannot stand for one and the same notion in all these
various applications ; for if it did, the term could not
be applied in all the categories, but in one only.
4 Thirdly, if the notion were one, since there is but
one science of all the things that come under one idea,
there would be but one science of all goods ; but as it
is, there are many sciences even of the goods that
come under one category ; as, for instance, the science
which deals with opportunity in war is strategy, but
in disease is medicine; and the science of the due
amount in the matter of food is medicine, but in the
matter of exercise is the science of gymnastic.
6 Fourthly, one might ask what they mean by the
'' absolute : " in " arbsolute man " and " man " the word
" man " has one and the same sense ; for in respect of
manhood there will be no difference between them ;
/
10 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. I.
and if, so, neither will there be any difference in
respect of goodness between "absolute good" and
"good."
Fifthly, they do not make the good any more good 6
by making it eternal ; a white thing that bsta a long
while is no whiter than what lasts but a day.
There seems to be more plausibility in the doctrine 7
of the Pythagoreans, who [in their table of opposites]
place the one on the same side with the good things
[instead of reducing all goods to unity]; and even
Speusippus * seems to follow them in this.
However, these points may be reserved for another 8
occasion ; but objection may be taken to what I have
said on the ground that the Platonists do not speak
in this way of all goods indiscriminately, but hold
that those that are pursued and welcomed on their
own account are called good by reference to one
common form or type, while those things that tend to
produce or preserve these goods, or to prevent their
opposites, are called good only as means to these, and
in a different sense.
It is evident that there will thus be two classes of 9
goods: one good in themselves, the other good as
means to the former. Let us separate then from the
things that are merely useful those that are good in
themselves, and inquire if they are called good by
reference to one common idea or type.
Now what kind of things would one call "good K
in themselves " ?
Surely those things that we pursue even apart
from their consequences, such as wisdom and sight
* Plato's nephew and snccessor.
6, 6-13.] THE END. 11
and certain pleasures and certain honours; for
although we sometimes pursue these things as means,
no one could refuse to rank them among the things
that are good in themselves.
If these be excluded, nothing is good in itself
except the idea ; and then the type or form will be
meaningless.*
Li If however, these are ranked among the things
that are good in themselves, then it must be shown
that the goodness of all of them can be defined in the
same terms, as white has the same meaning wheu
applied to snow and to white lead.
But, in fact, we have to give a separate and
different account of the goodness of honour and
wis(lom and pleaSire.
Good, then, is not a term that is applied to all these
things alike in the same sense or with reference to
one common idea or form.
L2 But how then do these things come to be called
good? for they do not appear to have received the
same name by chance merely. Perhaps it is because
they all proceed from one source, or all conduce to
one end; or perhaps it is rather in virtue of some
analogy, just as we call the reason the eye of the soul
because it bears the same relation to it that the eye
does to the body, and so on.
L3 But we may dismiss these questions at present j
for to discuss them |n detail belongs more properly to
another branch of philosophy.
And for the same reason we may dismiss the sven if i
* For there is no meaning in a form which is a form of nothing,
in a nniveraal whioh has no particulars under it.
12 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk. t
t* further consideration of the idea; for even granting
uthere. that this term good, which is applied to all thess
different things, has one and the same meaning
throughout, or that there is an absolute good apart
from these particulars, it is evident that this good
•will not be anything that man can realize or attain :
but it is a good of this kind that we are now
seeking.
It might, perhaps, be thought that it would never- 14
theless be well to make ourselves acquainted with
this imiversal good, with a view to the goods that are
attainable and realizable. With this for a pattern, it
may be said, we shall more readily discern our own
good, and discerning achieve it
There certainly is some plausibility in this argu- 15
ment, but it seems to be at variance with the existing
sciences ; for though they are all aiming at some good
and striving to make up their deficiencies, they neglect
to inquire about this universal good. And yet it is
scarce likely that the professors of the several arts and
sciences should not know, nor even look for, what
would help them so much.
And indeed I am at a loss to know how the weaver l(
or the carpenter would be furthered in his art by a
knowledge of the absolute good, or how a man would
be rendered more able to heal the sick or to command
an army by contemplation of the pure form or idea.
For it seems to me that the physician does not even
seek for health in this abstract way, but seeks for the
health of man, or rather of some particular man, for it
Ttr is individuals that he has to heaL
■. «■
nod {9 7. Leaving these matters, then, let us return once i
e, 14-7, 4] THE END. 13
more to the question, what this good can be of which otefma
we are in search. mmutk
It seems to be different in different kinds of action
and in different arts, — one thing in medicine and
another in war, and so on. What then is the good in
each of these cases ? Surely that for the sake of which
all else is dona And that in medicine is health, in
war is victory, in building is a house, — a different thing
in each different case, but always, in whatever we do
and in whatever we choose, the end. For it is always
for the sake of the end that all else is done.
If then there be one end of all that man does, this
end wiU be the realizable good, — or these ends, if
there be more than one.
2 Our argument has thus come round by a different
path to the same point as before.* This point we
must try to explain more clearly.
3 We see that there are many ends. But some of
these are chosen only as means, as wealth, flutes, and
the whole class of instruments. And so it is plain that
not all ends are finaL
But the best of all things must, we conceive, be
something final.
If then there be only one final end, this will be
what we are seeking, — or if there be more than one,
then the most final of them.
4 Now that which is pursued as an end in itself is ^
more final than that which is pursued as means to
something else, and that which is never chosen as
means than that which is chosen both as an end in
itself and as means, and that is strictly final which
N
14 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLE. [Bk. I.
is always chosen as an end in itself and never as
means.
^ Happiness seems more than anything else to answer 5
, to this description : for we always choose it for itself,
^ and never for the sake of something else \ while honour
and pleasure and reason, and all virtue or excellence,
we choose partly indeed for themselves (for, apart jfrom
any result, we should choose each of them), but partly
also for the sake of happiness, supposing that they will
help to make us happy. But no one chooses happiness
for the sake of these things, or as a means to anything
else at all.
We seem to be led to the same conclusion when we 6
start from the notion of self-sufficiency,
y The final good is thought to be self-suiBcing [or
^ all-sufficing]. In applying this term we do not regard
a man as an individual leading a solitary life, but we
also take account of parents, children, wife, and, in
short, friends and fellow-citizens generally, since man
y is naturally a social being. Some limit must indeed 7
be set to this ; for if you go on to parents and descend-
ants and friends of friends, you will never come to a
stop. But this we will consider further on : for the
present we will take self-sufficing- to mean what by
itself makes life desirable and in want of nothing.
And happiness is believed to answer to this descrip-
tion.
And further, happiness is believed to be the most 8
/ desirable thing in the world, and that not merely as
one among other good things : if it were merely one
among other good things [so that other things could
be added to it], it is plain that the addition of the least
7, 6-13.] THE END. 15
of other goods must make it more desirable ; for the
addition becomes a surplus of good, and of two goods
the greater is always more desirable. n
Thus it seems that happiness is something final
and self-sufficing, and is the end of all that man
does.
9 But perhaps the reader thinks that though no one jb jind u w
will dispute the statement that happiness is the best man's
thing in the world, yet a still more precise definition ^^ ^
of it is needed.
O This will best be gained, I think, by asking, What
is the function of man ? For as the gOQdneaajand the i^'
excellence of a piper or a sculptor, or the practiser of
any art, and generally of those who have any function
or business to do, liesJnjbaJLfuiiQtiQn, so man*s good
would seem to lie in his function, if he has one*
Li But can we suppose that, while a carpenter and a
cobbler has a function and a business of his own, man
has no business and no function assigned him by
nature ? Nay, surely as his several members, eye and
hand and foot, plainly have each his own function,
so we must suppose that man also has some function^--'
over and above all these.
L2 "What then is it?
Life evidently he has in common even with the
plants, but we want that which is peculiar to him.
We must exclude, therefore, the life of mere nutrition
and growth.
Next to this comes the life of sense ; but this too
he plainly shares with horses and cattle aniall kinds
of animals.
3 There remains then the life whereby he acts — the
16 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. I,
/-life of his rational nature,* with its two sides or
divisions, one rational as obeying reason, the other
rational as having and exercising reason.
But as this expression is ambiguous,"!* we must be
understood to mean thereby the life that consists in
the exercise of the faculties ; for this seems to be more
properly entitled to the name.
The function of man, then, is exercise of his vital l
K.-I faculties [or soul] on one side in obedience to reason,
\^ and on the other side with reason.
But what is called the function of a man of any
profession and the function of a man who is good
in that profession are generically the same, cgr. of a
harper and of a good harper ; and this holds in all
cases without exception, only that in the case of the
latter his superior excellence at his work is added ; for
we say a harper's function is to harp, and a good
harper's to harp well
Man's function then being, as we say, a kind of life
— ^that is to say, exercise of his faculties and action of
various kinds with reason — ^the good man's function
is to do this well and beautifully [or nobly].
But the function of anything is done well when it U
is done in accordance with the proper excellence of
that thing.
na»iLinig Putting all this together, then, we find that the
• Tpcacrticfi TI5 rod \6yov ^xo»^os. Aristotle frequently uses the
terms ir/>a{is, irpaKr6sy TrpaKrtK6s in this wide sense, covering all that
man does, t.e. all that part of man's life that is within the control
of his will, or that is consoionslj directed to an end, including there*
fore specnlation as well as action.
f For it might mean either the mere possession of the vital
faculties, or their exercise*
7, 14-19J THE END. 17
good of man is exercise of his faculties in accordance d^nindnt^
with excellence or virtue, or, if there be more than j^-
one, in accordance "with the best and most complete Vv
virtue.*
16 But there must also be a full term of years for?
this exercise ; f for one swallow or one fine day does j^
not make a spring, nor does one day or any small
space of time make a blessed or happy man.
L7 This, then, may be taken as a rough outline of the
good ; for this, I think, is the proper method, — first to
sketch the outline, and then to fill in the details. But
it would seem that, the outline once fairly drawn, any
one can carry on the work and fit in the several items
which time reveals to us or helps us to find. And this
indeed is the way in which the arts and sciences have
grown ; for it requires no extraordinary genius to fill
up the gaps.
8 We must bear in mind, however, what was said
above, and not demand the same de^ee of accuracy in
all branches of study, but in each case so much as the
subject-matter admits of and as is proper to that kind
L9 of inquiry. The carpenter and the geometer both look
for the right angle, but in different ways : the former
only wants such an approximation to it as his work
requires, but the latter wants to know what con'»
stitutes a right angle, or what is its special quality ;
his aim is to find out the truth. And so in other cases
we must follow the same course, lest we spend more
* This '' best and most complete excellence or yirtne *' is the
trained facnltj for philosophic specolation, and the contemplative life
is man's highest happiness. Cf, X. 7, 1.
t Cf. 9, 11.
C
18 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [ftc. I.
time on what is immaterial than on the real business
in hand.
Nor must we in all cases alike demand the reason SO
why ; sometimes it is enough if the undemonstriited
fact be fairly pointed out, as in the case of the start-
ing-points or principles of a science. Undemonstrated
facts always form the first step or starting-point of
a science ; and these starting-points or principles are fl
arrived at some in one way, some in another — some
by induction, others by perception, others again by '
some kind of training. But in each case we must try
to apprehend them in the proper way, and do our
best to define them clearly ; for they have great in-
fluence upon the subsequent course of an inquiry.
A good start is more than half the race, I think, and
our starting-point or principle, once found, clears up
a number of our diflSculties.
^uview 8. We must not be satisfied, then, with examining 1
iarmont«et .1.1.. . . • • i /• i •
uriom this startmg-pomt or prmciple of ours as a conclusion
•iewf. from our data, but must also view it in its relation
to current opinions on the subject ; for all experience
harmonizes with a true principle, but a false one is
soon found to be incompatible with the facts.
Now, good things have been divided into three s
. /classes, external goods on the one hand, and on the
^ other goods of the soul and goods of the body ; and
the goods of the soul are commonly said to be
goods in the fullest sense, and more good than any
other. ,^ 9f
But " actions and exercises of the vital faculties or
soul " may be said to be *' of the soul." So our account
is confirmed by this opinion, which is both of long
7, 20-8, 9.] THE END. 19
standing and approved by all who busy themselves
with philosophy, v
8 But, indeed, we secure the support of this opinion
by the mere statement that certain actions and
exercises are the end; for this implies that it is to
be ranked among the goods of the soul, and not
among external goods.
4 Our account, again, is in harmony with the com-
mon saying that the happy man lives well and does
well ; for we may say that happiness, according to us,
is a living well and doing well.
5 And, indeed, aU the characteristics that men expect
to find in happiness seem to belong to happiness as
we define it.
6 Some hold it to be virtue or excellence, some
prudence, others a kind of wisdom ; others, again, hold
it to be all or some of these, with the addition of
pleasure, either as an ingredient or as a necessary,
accompaniment; and some even include external
prosperity in their account of it.
7 Now, some of these views have the support of
many voices and of old authority; others have few
voices, but those of weight ; but it is probable that
neither the one side nor the other is entirely wrong,
but that in some one point at least, if not in most,
they are both right.
8 First, then, the view that happiness is excellence
or a kind of excellence harmonizes with our account ;
for "exercise of faculties in accordance with excel-
lence " belongs to excellence.
9 But I think we may say that it makes no small
difference whether the good be conceived as the mere
20 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. I.
. possession of something, or as its use — as a mere habit
I or trained faculty, or as the exercise of that faculty.
For the habit or faculty may be present, and yet issue
in no good result, as when a man is asleep, or in any
other way hindered jfrom his function ; but with its
exercise this is not possible, for it must show itself
in acts and in good acts. And as at the Olympic
games it is not the fairest and strongest who receive
the crown, but those who contend (for among these
are the victors), so in life, too, the winners are those
1^ who not only have all the excellences, but manifg^t
these in deed.
And, further, the life of these men is in itself 10
pleasant. For pleasure is an affection of the soid,
and each man takes pleasure in that which he is said
to love, — ^he who loves horses in horses, he who loves
sight-seeing in sight-seeing, and in the same way he
who loves justice in acts of justice, and generally the
lover of excellence or virtue in virtuous acts or the
manifestation of excellence.
And while with most men there is a perpetual 11
conflict between the several things in which they find
pleasure, since these are not naturally pleasant, those
1 who love what is noble take pleasure in that which
is naturally pleasant. For the manifestations of ex-
cellence are naturally pleasant, so that they are both
pleasant to them and pleasant in themselves.
Their life, then, does not need pleasure to be added II
to it as an appendage, but contains pleasure in itself.
Indeed, in addition to what we have said, a man
is not good at all unless he takes pleasure in noble
deeds. No one would call a man just who did not
I-
v->
8, 10-17.] THE END. 21
take pleasure in doing justice, nor generous who took
no pleasure in acts of generosity, and so on.
L3 If this be so, the manifestations of excellence will
be pleasant in themselves. But they are also both
good and noble, and that in the highest degree — at
least, if the good man's judgment about them is rights
for this is his judgment.
L4 Happiness, then, is at once the best and noblest} ^ r
and pleasantest thing in the world, and these are not/
separated, as the Delian inscription would have then»
to be : —
« What is most jast is noblest, health is best,
Pleasantest is to get your heart's desire/'
For all these characteristics are united in the best
exercises of our faculties ; and these, or some one of
them that is better than all the others, we identify
with happiness.
15 But nevertheless happiness plainly requires ex-
ternal goods too, as we said ; for it is impossible, or
at least not easy, to act nobly without some furniture
of fortune. There are many things that can only be *^
done through instruments, so to speak, such as friends
L6 and wealth and political influence : and there are some
things whose absence takes the bloom off our happi-
ness, as good birth, the blessing of children, personal
beauty ; for a man is not very likely to be happy if
h'e is very ugly in person, or of low birth, or alone in
the world, or childless, and perhaps still less if he has
worthless children or friends, or has lost good ones
that he had.
.7 As we said, then, happiness seems to stand in need
of this kind of prosperity ] and so some identify it
22 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. I.
with good fortune, just as others identify it with
excellence.
rthappinesM 9. This has led people to ask whether happiness i
lequired, or "iiv ^
^^Jl^^ l/^ attained by learning, or the formation of habits, or
\f chancer any other kind of training, or comes by some divine
dispensation or even by chaiice.
Well, if the Gods do give gifts to men, happiness 2
is likely to be among the nimiber, more likely, indeed,
than anything else, in proportion as it is better than
all other human things.
This belongs more properly to another branch of in- 3
quiry ; but we may say that even if it is not heaven-
^ sent, but comes as a consequence of virtue or some
kind of learning or training, still it seems to be one
of the most divine things in the world ; for the prize
and aim of virtue would appear to be better than
anything else and something divine and blessed.
Again, if it is thus acquired it will be widely i
accessible; for it will then be in the power of all
except those who have lost the capacity for excellence
to acquire it by study and diligence.
And if it be better that men should attain happi* 5
ness in this way rather than by chance, it is reasonable
to suppose that it is so, since in the sphere of nature
all things are arranged in the best possible way, and
likewise in the sphere of art, and of each mode of 6
causation, and most of all in the sphere of the noblest
mode of causation. And indeed it would be too
absurd to leave what is noblest and fairest to the
dispensation of chance.
But our definition itself clears up the difficulty;* 7
* C/.8 ^ras 7, 21.
9, 1-10, 2.] THE END. 23
for happiness was defined as a certain kind of exercise
of the vital faculties in accordance with excellence or
virtue. And of the remaining goods [other than goods
of the soul], some must be present as necessary con-
ditions, while others are aids and useful instruments
8 to happiness. And this agrees with what we said at
starting. We then laid down that the end of the art i- —
political is the best of all ends ; but the chief business
of that art is to make the citizens of a certain character
9 — that is, good and apt to do what is noble. It is not ,^
without reason, then, that we do not call an ox, or a
horse, or any brute happy ; for none of them is able
to share in this kind of activity. ^ .
10 For the same reason also a child is not happy ;\\ ]\\l
he is as yet, because of his age, unable to do such " -^
things. If we ever call a child happy, it is because V
we hope he will do them. For, as we said, happi-
ness requires not only perfect excellence or virtue,
Li but also a full term of years for its exercise. For
our circumstances are liable to many changes and
to all sorts of chances, and it is possible that he
who is now most prosperous will in his old age meet
with great disasters, as is told of Priam in the
tales of the heroes; and a man who is thus used
by fortune and comes to a miserable end cannot be
called happy.
1 10. Are we, then, to call no man happy as long as £*"'tj^"
he lives, but to wait for the end, as Solon said ? *«iw ,
2 And, supposing we have to allow this, do we mean ""
that he actually is happy after he is dead ? Surely
that is absurd, especially for us who say that happi-
ness is a kind of activity or life.
24 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. L
But if we do not call the dead fnan happy, and if 3
Solon meant not this, but that only then could we
safely apply the term to a man, as being now beyond
the reach of evil and calamity, then here too we
find some ground for objection. For it is thought
that both good and evU may in some sort befall a
dead man (just as they may befall a living man,
although he is unconscious of them), e.g, honours
rendered to him, or the reverse of these, and again the
prosperity or the misfortune of his children and all
his descendants.
But this, too, has its difficulties ; for after a man 4
has lived happily to a good old age, and ended as he
lived, it is possible that many changes may befall him
in the persons of his descendants, and that some of
them may turn out good and meet with the good
fortune they deserve, and others the reverse. It ia»
evident too that the degree in which the descendants
are related to their ancestors may vary to any extent.
And it would be a strange thing if the dead man were 5
to change with these changes and become happy and
miserable by turns. But it woidd also be strange to
suppose that the dead are not affected at all, even for
a limited time, by the fortunes of their posterity.
But let us return to our former question ; for its 6
solution wiQ, perhaps, clear up this other difficulty.
The saying of Solon may mean that we ought to 7
look for the end and then call a man happy, not
because he now is, but because he once was happy.
But surely it is strange that when he is happy
we should refuse to say what is true of him, because
we do not like to apply the term to living men in view
10, 3-11.] THE END. 25
of the changes to which they are liable, and because we
. hold happiness to be something that endures and is
little liable to change, while the fortunes of one and
8 the same man often undergo many revolutions : for, it
is argued, it is plain that, if we follow the changes of
fortune, we shall call the same man happy and miserable >
many times over, making the happy man "a sort of
chameleon and one who rests on no sound foundation."
9 We reply that it cannot be right thus to follow
fortune. For it is not in this that our weal or woo
lies ; but, as we said, though the life of man needs
these gifts of fortune, yet it is the excellent employ-
, ment of his powers that constitutes his happiness, as A~
the reverse of this constitutes his misery.
.0 But the discussion of this difficulty leads to a
further confirmation of our account. For nothing
human is so constant as the excellent exer dse of our ^
faculties. The sciences themselves seem to be less
abiding. And the highest of these exercises * are the
most abiding, because the happy are occupied with
them most of all and most continuously (for this seems
to be the reason why we do not forget how to do
them t).
Li The happy man, then, as we define him, will have
this required property of permanence, and all through
life will preserve his character ; for he will be occupied'
continually, or with the least possible interruption, in
* Tlie ** highest exercise of onr fisicuUies " is, of coarse, philo-
sophic contemplation, as above, I. 7, 15 ; cf. X. 7, 1.
f We may forget scientific truths that we have known more
easily than we lose the habit of scientific thinking or of virtaoua
action; cf, X. 7, 2j VI. 6, 8.
26 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk, I.
excellent deeds and excellent speculations ; and, what-
ever his fortune be, he will take it in the noblest
fashion, and bear himself always and in all things
suitably, since he is truly good and " foursquare with-
out a flaw."
But the dispensations of fortune are many, some li
great, some small. The small ones, whether good or
evil, plainly are of no weight in the scale ; but the
great ones, when numerous, will make life happier if
they be good ; for they help to give a grace to life
themselves, and their use is noble and good ; but, if
they be evil, will enfeeble and spoil happiness ; for
they bring pain, and often impede the exercise of our
faculties.
But nevertheless true worth shines out even here,
in the calm endurance of many great misfortunes, not
through insensibility, but through nobility and great-
ness of soul. And if it is what man does that deter- 13
mines the character of his life, as we said, then no
happy man will become miserable ^ for he will never
do what is hateful and base. For we hold that the
man who is truly good and wise will bear with dignity
whatever fortune sends, and will always make the
best of his circumstances, as a good general will turn
the forces at his command to the best account, and a
good shoemaker will make the best shoe that can be
made out of a given piece of leather, and so on with
all other crafts.
If this be so, the happy man will never become u
V miserable, though he will not be truly happy if he
meets with the fate of Priam.
But yet he is not unstable and lightly changed : he
/
10, 12-11, 8.1 THE END. 27
will not be moved from his happiness easily, nor by any
ordinary misfortunes, but only by many heavy ones ;
and after such, he will not recover his happiness again
in a short time, but if at all, only in a considerable
period, which has a certain completeness, and in which
he attains to great and noble things.
5 We shall meet all objections, then, if we say thatV
a happy man is "one who exercises his faculties in ^
accordance with perfect excellence, being duly fur-
nished with external goods, not for any chance time,
but for a full term of years : " to which perhaps we
shoidd add, " and who shall continue to live so, and
shall die as he lived," since the future is veiled to us,
but happiness we take to be the end and in all ways
perfectly final or complete.
If this be so, we may say that those living men are
blessed or perfectly happy who both have and shall
continue to have these characteristics, but happy as
men only.
1 11. Passing now from this question to that of the oannoia
fortunes of descendants and of friends generally, the *^I^^*
doctrine that they do not affect the departed at all *»<*'
seems too cold and too much opposed to popular
2 opinion. But as the things that happen to them are
many and differ in all sorts of ways, and some come
home to them more and some less, so that to discuss
them all separately would be a long, indeed an end-
. less task, it will perhaps be enough to speak of them /
in general terms and in outline merely.
3 Now, as of the misfortunes that happen to a man's
self, some have a certain weight and influence on his
life, while others are of less moment, so is it also with
28 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. L
what happens to any of his friends. And, again, it 4
always makes much more difference whether those
who are affected by an occurrence are alive or dead
than it does whether a terrible crime in a tragedy be
enacted on the stage or merely supposed to have
already taken place. We must therefore take these 6
differences into account, and still more, perhaps, the
^/ \ fact that it is a doubtful question whether the dead
■ are at all accessible to good and ill. For it appears
from what has been said that even if anything, whether
good or evil, does come home to them, yet it is some-
thing unsubstantial and slight to them if not in itself;
or if not that, yet at any rate its influence is not of
that magnitude or nature that it can make happy
those who are not, or take away their happiness from
those that are.
It seems then — to conclude — that the prosperity, 6
and likewise the adversity, of friends does affect the
y dead, but not in such a way or to such an extent as to
make the happy unhappy, or to do anything of the
kind.
ipr«n«««a» 12. These points being settled, we may now inquire 1
<»^ whether happiness is to be ranked among the goods
that we praise, or rather among those that we revere ;
for it is plainly not a mere potentiality, but an actual
good.
What we praise seems always to be praised 2
as being of a certain quality and having a certain
relation to something. For instance, we praise the
just and the courageous man, and generally the good
man, and excellence or virtue, because of what they do
or produce ; and we praise also the strong or the swift-
11, 4-12, 7.1 THE END. 29
footed man, and so on, because he has a certain gift
or faculty in relation to some good and admirable
thing.
3 This is evident if we consider the praises bestowed
on the Gods. These appear ridiculous, because they
imply a reference to a human standard; and this
necessarily happens, because all praise, as we said,
involves a reference to some standard.
4 If, then, praise be proper to such things as we
mentioned, it is evident that to the best things is due,
not praise, but something greater and better, as our
usage shows ; for the Gods we call blessed and happy,
and " blessed " is the term we apply to the most god-
like men.
And so with good things: no one praises happiness
a^ he praises justice, but calls it blessed, as something
better and more divine.
6 On these groimds Eudoxus is thought to have
based a strong argument for the claims of pleasure to
the first prize : for he maintained that the fact that it
is not praised, though it is a good thing, shows that it.
is higher than the goods we praise, as God and the
good are higher ; for these are the standards by refer-
6 ence to which we judge all other things, — ^giving praise
to excellence or virtue, since it makes us apt to do
what is noble, and passing encomiujos on the results
of virtue, whether these be bodily or psychical.
7 But to refine on these points belongs more properly
to those who have made a study of the subject of
encomiums ; for us it is plain from what has been said
that happiness is one of the goods which we revere
and count as final
rtiut.
30 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLB. [Bk. L
•
And this further seems to follow from the fact that 8
it is a starting-point or principle : for everything "w^
do is always done for its sake ; hut the principle and
cause of all good we hold to be something divine and
^ worthy of reverence.
ivttionqf 13. Since happiness is an exercise of the vital 1
Id result- facultics in accordance with perfect virtue or excel-
^tj«_ lence, we will now inquire about virtue or excellence;
for this will probably help us in our inquiry about
happiness.
And indeed the true statesman seems to be espe- s
^ ciaUy concerned with virtue, for he wishes to make
the citizens good and obedient to the laws. Of this s
we have an example in the Cretan and the Lacedae-
monian lawgivers, and any others who have resembled
them. But if the inquiry belongs to Politics or the 4
science of the state, it is plain that it will be in ac-
cordance with our original purpose to pursue it.
The virtue or excellence that we are to consider is, |
of course, the excellence of man ; for it is the good of
man and the happiness of man that we stai*ted to
seek. And by the excellence of man I mean excel- 6
4ence not of body, but of soid ; for hagmness we take
» /^ to be an activity of the sojo l.
If this be so, then it is evident that the statesman 7
must have some knowledge of the soid, just as the
man who is to heal the eye or the whole body must
have some knowledge of them, and that the more in
proportion as the science of the state is higher and
better than medicine. But all educated physicians
take much pains to know about the body.
As statesmen [or students of Politics], then, we 8
12, 8-13, IS.] DIVISION OF THE FACULTIES. 81
must inquire into the nature of the soul, but in so
doing we must keep our special purpose in view and »^
go only so far as that requires ; for to go into minuter
detail would be too laborious for the present under-^
taking.
9 Now, there are certain points which are stated with
sufficient precision even in the popular accounts of
the soul, and these we will adopt.
For instance, they distinguish an irrational and
a rational part.
LO Whether these are separated as are the parts of the
body or any divisible thing, or whether they are only
distinguishable in thought but in fact inseparable, like
concave and convex in the circumference of a circle^
makes no difference for our present purpose.
Ll Of the irrational part, again, one division seems to
be common to all things that live, and to be possessed
by plants — I mean that which causes nutrition and
growth ; for we must assume that all things that take
nourishment have a faculty of this kind, even when
they are embryos, and have the same faculty when
they are full grown; at least, this is more reasonable
than to suppose that they then have a different one.
12 The excellence of this facidty, then, is plainly one
that man shares with other beings, and not specificaUy
human. ^
And this is confirmed by the fact that this part of
the soul, or this faculty, is thought to be most active
in sleep, while the distinction between the good and
the bad man shows itself least in sleep — ^whence
the saying that for half their lives there is no differ-
18 ence between the happy and the miserable. This
32 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. I.
indeed is what we should expect; for sleep is the
cessation of the soul from those functions in respect of
which it is called good or bad, except in so far as
i the motions of the body may sometimes make their
way in, and give occasion to dreams which are better
/ in the good man than in ordinary people.
However, we need not pursue this further, and may 14
dismiss the nutritive principle, since it has no place in
the excellence of man.
But there seems to be another vital principle that IS
is irrational, and yet in some way partakes of reason.
In the case of the continent and of the incontinent
man alike we praise the reason or the rational part,
for it exhorts them rightly and urges them to do what
is best ; but there is plainly present in them another
principle besidesj^e^^iational,. one, which fights and
struggles against the reason."" For just as a paralyzed U
limb, when you will to move it to the right, moves on
the contrary to the left, so is it with the soul ; the in-
continent man's impulses run counter to his reason.
Only whereas we see the refractory member in the ease
of the body, we do not see it in the case of the souL
But we must nevertheless, I think, hold that in the
sold too there is something beside the reason, which
opposes and runs counter to it (though in what sense
it is distinct from the reason does not matter here).
It seems, however, to partake of reason also, as we 1
said : at least, in the continent man it submits to the
reason; while in the temperate and courageous man
we may say it is still more obedient ; for in him it is
altogether in harmony with the reason.
The irrational part, then, it appears, is twofold. 1
13, 14-20.] DIVISION OP THE VIRTUEa 33
There is the vegatfttijifiJkcuUy, which has no share of
reason ; and the faculty of appetite or of desire in Y
general, which partakes of reason in a manner — that
is, in so far aa it listens to reason and submits to its .
sway. Bub when we say " partakes of reason " or ^
" listens to reason," we mean this in the sense in which i
■we talk of " listening to reason " from parents or \
friends, not in the sense in which we talk of listen-
ing to reason from mathematicians.
Further, all advice and all rebuke and exhortation
testifies that the iiTational part is in some way
amenable to reason.
9 If then we like to say that this part, too, has a\
share of reason, the rational part also will have two I
divisions : one rational in the strict sense as possessing / 1,
reason in itself, the other rational aa listening to reason/
as a man listens to his father.
Now", on this division of the faculties is based tho
division of excellence; for we speak of intellectual
excellences and of moral excellences ; wisdom and
understanding and prudence we call intellectual,
liberality and temperance we call moral virtues or
excellencea When we are speaking of a man's moral
character we do not say that he is wise or intelligent,
but that he is gentle or temperate. But we praise
the wise man, too, for his habit of mind or trained ^^
faculty ; and a habit or trained faculty that is praise-
worthy is what we call an excellence or virtue. .
BOOK n
MORAL VIRTUE.
Moral virtuei 1. EXCELLENCE, then, being of these two kindS; in- 1
b/SS*^- tellectual and moral, intellectual excellence owes its
riS^'^^irth and growth mainly to instruction, and so re-
^'^ ' quires time and experience, while moral excellence
is the residt of habit or custom (iOog), and has accord-
ingly in our language received a name formed by a
slight change from iOog*
From this it is plain that none of the moral excd- 1
lences or virtues is implanted in us by nature; for
that which is by nature cannot be altered by training.
For instance, a stone naturally tends to fiall down-
wards, and you could not train it to rise upw^ards,
though you tried to do so by throwing it up ten
thousand times, nor could you train fire to move
downwards, nor accustom anything which naturally
behaves in one way to behave in any other way.
The virtues,! then, come neither by nature nor. I
* tdos, cnstom ; ^Oos, character ; ^0<k^ aper^ moral ezceUence : ire
have no Bimilar sequence, bnt the Latin mos, mores, from which
** morality ** comes, covers both Udos and ^6os.
t It is with the moral virtues that this and the three following
books are exclusively concerned, the discnssion of the intelleotiud
virtues being postponed to Book VI. iperai is often nsed in these
books, withoat any epithet, for " moral virtneS|" and perhaps ia go
used here.
1, 1-6.] MOBAL VIBTUE. 35
against nature, but nature gives the capacity for /<"
acquiring them, and this is developed by training.
4 Again, where we do things by nature we get the
power first, and put this power forth in act afterwards :
as we plainly see in the case of the senses ; for it is ^
not by constantly seeing and hearing that we acquire
those faculties, but, on the contrary, we had the power
first and then used it, instead of acquiring the power
by the use. But the virtues we acquire by doing the
acts, as is the case with the arts too. We learn an art
by doing that which we wish to do when we have
learned it; we become builders by building, and
harpers by harping. And so by doing just acts wo
become just, and by doing acts of temperance and
courage we become temperate and courageous.
5 This is attested, too, by what occurs in states ; for
the legislators make their citizens good by training \il^
i.e. this is the wish of all legislators, and those who
do not succeed in this miss their aim, and it is this
that distinguishes a good from a bad constitution.
6 Again, both virtues and vices result from and
are formed by the same acts in which they manifest
themselves, as is the case with the arts also. It is by
harping that good harpers and bad harpers alike are
produced : and so with builders and the rest ; by
building well they will become good builders, and bad
7 builders by building badly. Indeed, if it were not so,
they would not want anybody to teach them, but
would all be bom either good or bad at their trades.
And it is just the same with the virtues also. It is
by our conduct in our intercourse with other men
that we become just or unjust, and by acting in cir-
36 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLE. [Bk. IL
cumstances of danger, and training ourselves to feel
fear or confidence, that we become courageous or
cowardly. So, too, with our animal appetites and the
passion of anger; for by behaving in this way or in
that on the occasions with which these passions are
concerned, some become temperate and gentle, and
others profligate and ill-tempered. In a word, the
several habits or characters are formed by the same
kind of acts as those which they produce.
Hence we ought to make sure that our acts be of 8
a certain kind ; for the resulting character varies as
they vary. It makes no small diflference, therefore,
whether a man be trained from his youth up in this
way or in that, but a great difference, or rather all
the difference.
fiaeadt 2. But our prcscut inquiry has not, like the rest, 1
t reason a merely speculative aim ; we are not inquiring merely
i^^n'!6« in order to know what excellence or virtue is, biit in '
\actiy,hut order to become good; for otherwise it would profit
either too US nothing. Wc must ask therefore about these
\uch nor
Hfiuue. acts, and see of what kind they are to be; for, as
we said, it is they that determine our habits or
character.
First of all, then, that they must be in accordance 2
with right reason is a common characteristic of them,
which we shall here take for granted, reserving for
future discussion * the question what this right reason
is, and how it is related to the other excellences.
But let it be understood, before we go on, that all 8
reasoning on matters of practice must be in outline
merely, and not scientifically exact : for, as we said at
» In Book VI.
/
I, 8-2, 7J MOEAL VntTUB. 37
starting, the kind of reasoning to be demanded varies
with the subject in hand; and in practical matters
and questions of expediency there are no invariable
laws, any more than in questions of health.
i And if our general conclusions are thus inexact,
still more inexact is all reasoning about particular
cases ; for these fall under no system of scientifically
established rules or traditional maxims, but the agent
must always consider for himself what the special
occasion requires, just as in medicine or navi-
gation.
5 But though this is the case we must try to render
what help we can.
6 First of all, then, we must observe that, in matters
of this sort, to fall short and to exceed are alike fataL
This is plain (to illustrate what we cannot see by
what we can see) in the case of strength and health.
Too much and too little exercise alike destroy strength,
and to take too much meat and drink, or to take too
little, is equally ruinous to health, but the fitting
amount produces and increases and preserves them. i. y
7 Just so, then, is it with temperance also, and courage, ^
and the other virtues. The man who shuns and
fears everything and never makes a stand, becomes
a coward; while the man who fears nothing at all;
but will face anything, becomes foolhardy. So, too,
the man who takes his fill of any kind of pleasure,^
and abstains from none, is a profligate, but the man
who shuns all (like him whom we call a " boor ") is
devoid of sensibility.* For temperance and courage
» These two, the " boor " (AypoT/cos) and he who lacks sensibility
{}uf9!iaBii^'ros\ are afterwards distinguished : (/. II. 7, 8 and 13*
38 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IL
are destroyed both by excess and defect, but pre-
served by moderation.
But habits or types of character are not only pro- 8
duced and preserved and destroyed by the same occa-
sions and the same means, but they will also manifest
themselves in the same circumstances. This is the
case with palpable things like strength. Strength is
produced by taking plenty of nourishment and doing
plenty of hard work, and the strong man, in turn, has
the greatest capacity for these. And the case is the 9
same with the virtues : by abstaining from pleasure
\/ we become temperate, and when we have become
temperate we are best able to abstain. And so with
courage : by habituating ourselves to despise danger,
and to face it, we become courageous ; and when we
have become courageous, we are best able to face
danger.
wuijtuin 3. The pleasure or pain that accompanies the acts 1
liili^JSftS''^* must be taken as a test of the formed habit or character,
ire and Hc who abstsins from the pleasures of the body and
rejoices in the abstinence is temperate, while he who
is vexed at having to abstain is profligate ; and again,
he who faces danger with pleasure, or, at any rate,
without pain, is courageous, but he to whom this is
painful is a coward.
For moral virtue or excellence is closely con-
|/cemed with pleasure and pain. It is pleasure that
moves us to do what is base, ancj pain that moves us
to refrain from what is noble. And therefore, as 9
Plato says, man needs to be so trained from his youth
)up as to find pleasure and pain in the right objects.
This is what sound education means.
i»n.
2| 8-3, 7j HOBAL VIRTUE. 39
Another reason why virtue has to do with pleasured
and pain, is that it has to do with actions and passions
or affections; but every affection and every act is
accompanied by pleasure or pain^
The fact is further attested by the employment of
pleasure and pain in correction; they have a kind of
curative property, and a cure is effected by administer-
ing the opposite of the disease. v
Again, as we said before, every type of character
[or habit or formed faculty] is essentially relative to,
and concerned with, those things that form it for good
or for ill ; but it is through pleasure and pain that bad
characters are formed — that is to say, through pur-
suing and avoiding the wrong pleasures and pains, or
pursuing and avoiding them at the wrong time, or in
the wrong manner, or in any other of the various
ways of going wrong that may be distinguished.
And hence some people go so far as to define the
virtues as a kind of impassive or neutral state of
mind But they err in stating this absolutely, instead
of qualifying it by the addition of the right and wrong -
manner, time, etc.
We may lay down, therefore, that this kind of
excellence {i.e. moral excellence] makes us do what is
best in matters of pleasure and pain, while vice or
badness has the contrary effect.
The following considerations will throw additional
light on the point.
There are three kinds of things that move us to
choose, and three that move us to avoid them : on the
one hand, the beautiful or noble, the advantageous,
the pleasant ; on the other hand, the ugly or base, the
/
40 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLK [Bk. II.
hurtful, the painful. Now, the good man is apt to
go right, and the bad man to go wrong, about them
all, but especially about pleasure i for pleasure is not
only common to man with animals, but also accom-
panies all pursuit or choice ; since the noble, and the
advantageous also, are pleasant in idea.
Again, the feeling of pleasure has besn fostered in 8
us all from our infancy by our training, and has thus
become so engrained in our life that it can scarce be
washed out.* And, indeed, we all more or less make
pleasure our test in judging of actions. For this 9
reason too, then, our whole inquiry must be concerned
with these matters ; since to be pleased and pained in
the right or the wrong way has great influence on our
actions^
And lastly, as Heraclitus says, it is harder to fight 10
with pleasure than with wrath, and virtue, like art, is
always more concerned with what is harder; for the
harder the task the better is success. For this reason
also, then, both [moral] virtue or excellence and the
science of the state must always be concerned with
pleasures and pains ; for he that behaves rightly with
regard to them will be good, and he that behaves badly
will be bad.
We will take it as established, then, that [moral] 1
excellence or virtue has to do with pleasures and pains ;
and that the acts which produce it develop it, and
also, when differently done, destroy it; and that it
manifests itself in the same acts which produced it.
* Actions and the acoompanying feelings of pleasure and pain
have so grown together, that it is impossible to separate the former
and judge them apart : cf, X. 4^ !!•
/
3, 8-4, 4.] MORAL VIRTUE. 41
1 4. But here we may be asked what we mean by n< eon-
saying that men can become just and temperate only virtwui
by doing what is just and temperate : surely, it may dittinetfro
be said, if their acts are just and temperate, they production
themselves are already just and temperate, as they
are grammarians and musicians if they do what is
grammatical and musical.
2 We may answer, I think, firstly, that this is not
quite the case even with the arts. A man may do
something grammatical [or write something correctly]
by chance, or at the prompting of another person : he
will not be grammatical till he not only does something
grammatical, but also does it grammatically [or like a
grammatical person], i,e, in virtue of his own know-
ledge of grammar.
3 But, secondly, the virtues are not in this point
analogous to the arts. The products of art have their
excellence in themselves, and so it is enough if when
produced they are of a certain quality : but in the case
of the virtuei a maa is not said to l^ justly or tem-
pei-ately [or like a just or temperate man] if what he
does merely be of a certain sort — ^he must also be in ^^
a certain state of mind when he does it ; i.e., first of
all, he must know what he is doing; secondly, ho
must choose it, and choose it for itself; and, thirdly,
his act must be the expression of a formed and stable
character. Now, of these conditions, only one, the
knowledge, is necessary for the possession of any art ;
but for the possession of the virtues knowledge is of
little or no avail, while the other conditions that
residt fix)m repeatedly doing what is just and tem-
perate are not a little important, but all-important.
42 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. IL
The thing that is done, therefore, is called just or 4
< \ temperate when it is such as the just or temperate
man would do ; but the man who does it is not just or
^ temperate, imless he also does it in the spirit of the
just or the temperate man.
It is right, then, to say that by doing what is just 5
a man becomes just, and temperate by doing what is
temperate, while without doing thus he has no chance
of ever becoming good.
But most men, instead of doing thus, fly to 6
theories, and fancy that they are philosophizing and
that this will make them good, like a sick man who
listens attentively to what the doctor says and then
disobeys all his orders. This sort of philosophizing
will no more produce a healthy habit of mind than this
sort of treatment will produce a healthy habit of body.
irtuenot 6. We havc next to inquire what excellence or 1
lemotiorit ...
>ra Virtue IS.
cultjft tut
ih^ned Everything psychical is either (1) a passion or
w«; emotion, or (2) a power or faculty, or (3) a habit or
/ trained faculty ; and so virtue must be one of these
three. By (1) a passion or emotion we mean appetite, J
anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, love, hate, longing,
emulation, pity, or generally that which is accompanied
by pleasure or pain ; (2) a power or faculty is that in
respect of which we are said to be capable of being
affected in any of these ways, as, for instance, that in
respect of which we are able to be angered or pained
or to pity; and (3) a hablb or trained faculty is
that in respect of which we are well or ill regulated
or disposed in the matter of our affections ; as, for
instance, in the matter of being angered, we are ijl
V
4, 5-6, IJ HOBAL VIIITUB. 43
regulated if we are too violent or too slack, but if we
are moderate in our anger we are well regulated.
And so with the rest.
3 Now, the virtues are not emotions, nor are the
vices — (1) because we are not called good or bad in
respect of our emotions, but are called so in respect '
of our virtues or vices; (2) because we are neither
praised nor blamed in respect of our emotions (a man
is not praised for being afraid or angry, nor blamed
for being angry simply, but for being angry in a
particular way), but we are praised or blamed in re-
4 spect of our virtues or vices ; (3) because we may be
angered or frightened without deliberate choice, but
the- virtues are a kind of deliberate choice, or at least ^r^^*
are impossible without it ; and (4) because in respect
of our emotions we are said to be moved, but in
respect of our virtues and vices we are not said to be
moved> but to be regulated or disposed in this way or
in that.
6 For these same reasons also they are not powers
or faculties ; for we are not called either good or bad
for being merely capable of emotion, nor are we either
praised or blamed for this. And further, while
nature gives us our powers or faculties, she does not
make us either good or bad. ^This point, however, we
have already treated.)
6 If, then, the virtues be neither emotions nor
faculties, it only remains for them to be habits or U^^^
ti'ained faculties.
1 6. We have thus found the genus to which virtue «<,., tj^
Ibelongs ; but we want to know, not only that it is a Jj^'i^
trained faculty, but also what species, of trained faculty "******
•it is.
1/
J
/
44 NICOMACHEAN ^ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk. II
We may safely assert that the virtue or excellence 9
of a thing causes that thing both to be itself in good
condition and to perform its function well. The ex-
cellence of the eye, for instance, makes both the eye
and its work good ; for it is by the excellence of the
eye that we see well. So the proper excellence of the
horse makes a horse what he should be, and makes
him good at running, and carrying his rider, and
standing a charge.
If, then, this holds good in all cases, the proper 8
excellence or virtue of man will be a habit or trained
faculty that makes a man good and makes him per-
form his function welL
How this is to be done we have already said, but 4
we may exhibit the same conclusion in another way,
by inquiring what the nature of this virtue is.
Now, if we have any quantity, whether continuous
or discrete,* it is possible to take either a larger [or
too large], or a smaller [or too small], or an equal [or
fair] amount, and that either absolutely or relatively
to our own needs.
By an equal or fair amount I understand a mean
amount, or one that lies between excess and deficiency.
By the absolute mean, or mean relatively to the 5
thing itself, I understand that which is equidistant
from both extremes, and this is one and the same
for all.
By the mean relatively to us I understand that
* A line (or a generons emotion) is a "continnons qnanldty;''
70a can part it where yon please : a ronlean of sovereigns is a
''discrete qnantitj," made up of definite part^ and primarilj
■eparable into them.
6, a-lO.] MORAL VntTUB. 45
6 which is neither too much nor too little for us ; and
this is not one and the same for alL
For instance, if ten be larger [or too large] and
two be smaller [or too small], if we take six we take
the mean relatively to the thing itself [or the
7 arithmetical mean]; for it exceeds one extreme by
the same amount by which it is exceeded by the other
extreme : and this is the mean in arithmetical pro-
portion.
But the mean relatively to us cannot be found in
this way. If ten pounds of food is too much for a
given man to eat, and two pounds too little, it does
not follow that the trainer will order him six pounds :
for that also may perhaps be too much for the man in
question, or too little; too little for Milo, too much
for the beginner. The same holds true in running
and wrestling.
8 And so we may say generally that a master in any
art avoids what is too much and what is too little,
and seeks for the mean and chooses it — not the
absolute but the relative mean.
9 Every art or science, then, perfects its work in this
way, looking to the mean and bringing its work up
to this standard ; so that people are wont to say of a
good work that nothing could be taken from it or
added to it, implying that excellence Ls destroyed by
excess or deficiency, but secured by observing the
mean. And good artists, as we say, do in fact keep
their eyes fixed on this in all that they do.
Virtue therefore, since like nature it is more exact
and better than any art, must also aim at the mean —
.0 virtue of course meaning moral virtue or excellence ;
i^
/^
46 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLK IBk. H.
for it has to do with passions and actions^ and it is
these that admit of excess and deficiency and the
mean. For instance, it is possible to feel fear, con-
fidence, desire, anger, pity, and generally to be Wj^fkaUA
pleasantly and painfully, either too mue .j^^ jr too KtUe,
in either case wrongly; but to be thus ^ w. "died at the ii
right times, and on the right occasions, and tdwards
the right persons, and with the right object, and in
the right fashion, is the mean course and the best
course, and these are characteristics of virtue. And 13
in the same way our outward acts also admit of
excess and deficiency, and the mean or due amount.
Virtue, then, has to deal with feelings or passions
and with outward .acts, in which excess is wrong and
deficiency also is blamed, but the mean amount is
praised and is right — both of which are characteristics
of virtue.
Virtue, then, is a kind of moderation (jitaornQ rig)* Vi
inasmuch as it aims at the mean or moderate amount
(to fiiaov).
Again, there are many ways of going wrong (for 14
evil is infinite in nature, to use a Pythagorean figure,
while good is finite), but only one way of going right;
so that the one is easy and the other hard — easy to
miss the mark and hard to hit. On this account also,
then, excess and deficiency are characteristic of vice,
hitting the mean is characteristic of virtue :
'* Goodness is simple, ill takes any shape. **
1/ Virtue, then, is a habit or trained faculty of chioice, li
* fA€<rSrriSy the abstract name for the qnalitj, is quite untrans-
latable.
e, ll-2a HOBAL VIRTUE. ^ 47
the characteristic of which lies in observing the mean
relatively to the persons concerned, and which i^
guided by reason, i.e. by the judgment of the pru-
dent man. "^
13 And it. M^ a moderation, firstly, inasmuch as it
comes in tlSlftniddle or mean between two vices, one
on the side of excess, the other on the side of defect ;
and, secondly, inasmuch as, while these vices fall short
of or exceed the due measure in feeling and in action,
it finds and chooses the mean, middling, or moderate .
amount.
.7 Regarded in its essence, therefore, or according to
the definition of its nature, virtue is a moderation
or middle state, but viewed in its relation to what i3
best and right it is the extreme of perfection.
.8 But it is not all actions nor all passions that admit
of moderation; there are some whose very names
imply badness, as malevolence, shamelessness, envy,
and, among acts, adultery, theft, murder. These and
all other like things are blamed as being bad in them-
selves, and not merely in their excess or deficiency.
It is impossible therefore to go right in them ; they
are always wrong : rightness and -^Tongness in such
things {e.g, in adultery) does not depend upon whether
it is the right person and occasion and manner, but
the mere doing of any one of them is wrong.
.9 It would be equally absurd to look for modera-
tion or excess or deficiency in unjust cowardly or
profligate conduct ; for then there would be modera-
tion in excess or deficiency, and excess in excess, and
deficiency in deficiency.
iO The fact is that just as there can be no excess
48 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IL
or deficiency in temperance or courage because the
mean or moderate amount is^ in a sense, an extreme,
so in these kinds of conduct also there can be no
moderation or excess or deficiency, but the acts are
wrong however they be done. For, to put it gene-
rally, there cannot be moderation in excess (Sr de-
ficiency, nor excess or deficiency in moderation.
"his muH be 7. But it is uot cnouffh to make these general state- 1
hetevena mcuts [about virtue and vice] : we must go on and
apply them to particulars [i.e, to the several virtues
and vices]. For in reasoning about matters of conduct
general statements are too vague,* and do not convey
so much truth as particular propositions. It is with
particulars that conduct is concerned :t our state-
ments, therefore, when applied to these particulars,
should be found to hold good.
These particulars then [i.e. the several virtues and
vices and the several acts and affections with which
they deal], we will take from the following table. J
1^ Moderation in the feelings of fear and confidence 8
is courage: of those that exceed, he that exceeds
in fearlessness has no name (as often happens), but
he that exceeds in confidence is foolhardy, while he
that exceeds in fear, but is deficient in confidence, is
cowardly.
* Or " cover more ^onnd, but convey less truth than particular
propositions," if we read Koiv6rtpoi with most manuscripts.
t In a twofold sense : my conduct cannot be virtuous except by
exhibiting the particular virtues of justice, temperance, etc. ; again,
my conduct cannot be just except by being just in particular cases to
particular persons.
X The Greek seems to imply that this is a generally accepted list^
but Aristotle repeatedly has to coin names : ej, infra, § 11.
7, 1-8J MOEAL VIRTUE. 49
Moderation in respect of certain pleasures and
also (though to a less extent) certain pains is
temperance, while excess is profligacy. But defect-
iveness in the matter of these pleasures is hardly ever
found, and so this sort of people also have as yet J^
received no name : let us put them down as " void of .^
sensibility."
[ In the matter of giving and taking money, modera-
tion is liberality, excess and deficiency are prodigality
and illiberality. But these two vices exceed and fall
short in contrary ways: the prodigal exceeds in
spending, but fioills short in taking ; while the illiberal
man exceeds in taking, but falls short in sp^iding.
) (For the present we are but giving an outline or
summary, and aim at nothing more ; we shall after-
wards treat these points in greater detaiL)
s But^ besides these, there are other dispositions in
the matter of money : there is a moderation which is
called magnificence (for the magnificent is not the
same as the liberal man : the former deals with large
sums, the latter with small), and an excess which is
called bad taste or vulgarity, and a deficiency which
is called meanness ; and these vices differ from those
which are opposed to liberality : how they differ will
be explained later.
7 With respect to honour and disgrace, there is a
moderation which is high-mindedness, an excess which
may be called vanity, and a deficiency which is little-
mindedness.
8 But just as we said that liberality is related to
magnificence, differing only in that it deals with small
sums, so here there is a virtue related to high-minded-
£
60 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. n.
ness, and differing only in that it is concerned with
small instead of great honours. A man may have a
due desire for honour, and also more or less than
! a due desire : he that carries this desire to excess is
^ called ambitious, he that has not enough of it is called
unambitious, but he that has the due amount has no
name. There are also no abstract names for the cha-
racters, except "ambition," corresponding to ambitious.
And on this account those who occupy the extremes
lay claim to the middle place. And in common
parlance, too, the moderate man is sometimes ciEklled
ambitious and sometimes unambitious, and some-
times the ambitious man is praised and sometimes
the unambitious. Why this is we will explain 9
afterwards ; for the present we will follow out our
plan and enumerate the other types of character.
l/^ In the matter of anger also we find excess and 10
deficiency and moderation. The characters themselves
hardly have recognized names, but as the moderate
man is here called gentle, we will call his charact^
gentleness ; of those who go into extremes, we may
take the term wrathful for him who exceeds, with
wrathfulness for the vice, and wrathless for him who
is deficient, with wrathlessness for his character.
Besides these, there are three kinds of moderation, 11
bearing some resemblance to one another, and yet
different. They all have to do with intercourse in
speech and action, but they differ in that one has to
do with the truthfulness of this intercourse, while the
other two have to do with its pleasantness — one of
the two with pleasantness in matters of amusement,
the other with pleasantness in all the relations of
7, 9-14.] MORAL VIRTUK. 51
life, Wb must therefore speak of theae qualities alsu
in order that we may the more plainly see how, in
all caaea, moderation ia praiaeworthy, while the ex-
treme eouraes are neither right nor praiseworthy,
but blamable.
In theae cases also natnea are for the most part
wanting, but we must try, hei-e as elsewhere, to coin
namea ourselves, in order to make our argument clear
and easy to follow.
) In the matter of truth, then, let us call him who
observes the mean a true [or truthful] person, and
observance of the mean truth [or tmtlil'ulnesa] : pre-
tence, when it exaggerates, may be called boasting,
and the person a boaster ; when it underatatea, let the
names be irony and ironical
3 With regard to pleasantness in amusement, he who
obaerves the mean may be called witty, and hia ■
character wittineas ; excess may be called buffoonery,
and the man a buffoon ; while boorish may stand for
the person who is deficient, and boorishncsa for his
character.
With regard to pleasantness in the other affairs
of life, he who makes himself properly pleasant may
be called friendly, and his moderation friendliness;
he that exceeds may be called obsequious if he have
no ulterior motive, but a flatterer if he has an eye to
his own advantage ; he that ia deficient in this respect,
and always makes himself disagreeable, may be called
a quarrelsome or peevish fellow,
1 Moreover, in mere emotions • and in our conduct
with regard to them, there are ways of observing the
■ i^. wliiob do not isano in act like those hitlicrUi mentioned.
52 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLB. [Bk. IL
mean; for instance, shame (alSwg), is not a virtue,
but yet the modest (alSriiuLwv) man is praised For in
these matters also we speak of this man <» observiBg
the mean, of that man as going beyond it (as the
shame-faced man whom the least thing makes shy),
whne he who is deficient in the feeling, or lacks it
altogether, is called shameless ; but the term modest
(atSi}jU(i>v) is applied to him who observes the mean.
Kighteous indignation, again, hits the mean be-
^ tween envy and malevolence. These have to do with U
feelings of pleasure and pain at what happens to
our neighbours. A man is called righteously indig-
nant when he feels pain at the sight of undeserved
prosperity, but your envious man goes beyond him
and is pained by the sight of any one in prosperity,
while the malevolent man is so far from being pained
that he actually exults in the sight of prosperous
iniquity.
But we shall have another opportunity of discuss- 1*
ing these matters.
As for justice, the term is used in more senses than
one ; we will, therefore, after disposing of the above
questions, distinguish these various senses, and show
how each of these kinds of justice is a kind of
moderation.
And then we will treat of the intellectual virtues
in the same way.
The two 8. There are, as we said, three classes of disposition, 1
^tremeiare viz. two kiuds of vicc, ouc marked by excess^ the
tSe^^ther other by deficiency, and one kind of virtue, the ob-
and to the ^ ,
intermediau scrvaucc 01 the mcau.
Now, the extreme dispositions are opposed both
7, 15-8, 6.] MOBAL VIRTUE. 53
to the mean or moderate disposition and to one ^
another, while the moderate disposition is opposed to ^
2 both the extremes. Just as a quantity which is equal
to a given quantity is «lso greater when compared
with a less, and less when compared with a greater
quantity, so t^he mean or moderate dispositions exceed
as compared with the defective dispositions, and fall
short as compared with the excessive dispositions, both
in feeling and in action ; e.g. the courageous man seems
foolhardy as compared with the coward, and cowardly
as compared with the foolhardy; and similarly the
temperate man appears profligate in comparison with
the insensible, and insensible in comparison with the
profligate man ; and the liberal man appears prodigal
by the side of the illiberal man, and illiberal by the
side of the prodigal man.
3 And so the extreme characters try to displace the
mean or moderate character, and each represents him
as falling into the opposite extreme, the coward calling
the courageous man foolhardy, the foolhardy calling
him coward, and so on in other casea
i But while the mean and the extremes are thus
opposed to one another, the extremes are still more
contrary to each other than to the mean ; for they are /^
further removed from one another than from the
mean, as that which is greater than a given magni-
tude is further from that which is less, and that wSh
is less is further from that which is greater, than
either the greater or the less is from that which is
equal to the given magnitude.
5 Sometimes, again, an extreme, when compared
with the mean, has a sort of resemblance to it, as fool-
54 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLB. [Bk. U.
hardiness to courage, or prodigality to liberality ; but
there is the greatest possible dissimilarity between
the extremes.
Again, "things that are as far as possible remored
from each other " is the accepted definition of con-
traries, so that the farther things are removed from
^ each other the more contrary they ara
In comparison with the mean, however, it is some- 6
times the deficiency that is the more opposed, and
sometimes the excess; e.g, foolhardiness, which is
excess, is not so much opposed to courage as cowardice,
which is deficiency ; but insensibility, which is lack
of feeling, is not so much opposed to temperance as
profligacy, which is excess.
The reasons for this are two. One is the reason 7
V derived from the nature of the matter itself: since
one extreme is, in fact, nearer and more similar to
the mean, we naturally do not oppose it to the mean
so strongly as the other ; e.g, as foolhardiness seems
more similar to courage and nearer to it, and cowardice
more dissimilar, we speak of cowardice as the opposite
rather than the other : for that which is further re-
moved from the mean seems to be more opposed to it
This, then, is one reason, derived from the nature 8
of the thing itself. Another reason lies in ourselves :
and it is this — those things to which we happen
to be more prone by nature appear to be more op-
posed to the mean: e.g, our natural inclination is
rather towards indulgence in pleasure, and so we more
easily fall into profligate than into regular habits:
those courses, then, in which we are more apt to run to
great lengths are spoken of as more opposed to the
8, 6-9, 4.] MOBAL VIBTUB. 55
mean ; and thus profligacy, which is an excess^ is more
opposed to temperance than the deficiency is.
1 9. We have sufficiently explained, then, that moral iv mean
virtue is moderation or observance of the mean, and ami a a
in what sense, viz. (1) as holding a middle positioniM;rcep(u>i
between two vices, one on the side of excess, and the reoMonini
other on the side of deficiency, and (2) as aiming at
the mean or moderate amoimt both in feeling and in
action.
2 And on this account it is a hard thing to be good ;
for finding the middle or the mean in each case
is a hard thing, just as finding the middle or centre
of a circle is a thing that is not within the power of
everybody, but only of him who has the requisite
knowledge. .;
Thus any one can be angry — that is quite easy; ^* :
any one can give money away or spend it : but to do
these things to the right person, to the right extent,
at the right time, with the right object, and in the
right manner, is not what everybody can do, and is
by no means easy ; and that is the reason why right
doing is rare and praiseworthy and noble.
8 He that aims at the mean, then, should first of all
strive to avoid that extreme which is more opposed
to it, as Calypso * bids Ulysses —
" Clear of tliese smoking breakers keep thy ship."
4 For of the extremes one is more dangerous, the
other less. Since then it is hard to hit the mean
precisely, we must " row when we cannot sail," as
the proverb has it, and choose the least of two evils ;
• Horn., Od., xii. 101-110, and 219-220 : Calypso should b^ G\t<5,^.
/^
56 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLB. [Bk. IL]
and that will be best effected in the way we have
described.
/ And secondly we must consider, each for himself,
'^ what we are most prone to — ^for different natures are
inclined to different things — ^which we may learn by
the pleasure or pain we feel. And then we must bend 5
ourselves in the opposite direction; for by keeping
well away from error we shall fall into the middle
course, as we straighten a bent stick by bending it
the other way.
But in all cases we must be especially on our guard 6
against pleasant things, and against pleasure ; for we
can scarce judge her impartially. And so, in our
behaviour towards her, we should imitate the be-
haviour of the old counsellors towards Helen,* and
in all cases repeat their saying : if we dismiss her we
shall be less likely to go wrong.
This then, m outline, is the course by which we 7
shall best be able to hit the mean.
But it is a hard task, we must admit, especially in
a particular case. It is not easy to determine, for
instance, how and with whom one ought to be angry,
\^ and upon what grounds, and for how long ; for public
opinion sometimes praises those who fall shorty and
calls them gentle, and sometimes applies the term
manly to those who show a harsh temper.
In fact, a slight error, whether on the side of excess 8
or deficiency, is not blamed, but only a considerable
error; for then there can be ho mistake. But it is
hardly possible to determine by reasoning how far or
to what extent a man must err in order to incur
• Horn., IL, iii. 154-160
9, 6-9.] MORAL VIRTUE. 57
blame ; and indeed matters that fall within the scope
of perception never can be so determined. Such
matters lie within the region of particulars, and can
only be determined by perception.
9 So much then is plain, that the middle character
is in all cases to be praised, but that we otight to incline
sometimes towards excess, sometimes towards defi-
ciency ; for in this way we shall most easily hit' the
mean and attain to right doing.
/-
COOK III.
CHAPTERS 1-6. THE WILL.
AncKtis 1. Virtue, as we have seen, has to do with feet i
wh^di^ ings( and actions. Now, praise * or blame is given
^^2^, only to what is voluntary ; that which is involuntary
S»^A receives pardon, and sometimes even pity.
Q^^H^Lt It seems, therefore, that a dear distinction between
^^^ the volimtary and the involuntary is necessary for
km^*** those who are investigating the nature of virtue, and
^^^c^- will also help legislators in assigning rewards and
cumttancet: , . ,
voluntary punisiiments.
oriffinated That is generally held to be involuntary which is 2
with know- I 1 . 11.
ledge qfcir- douc uudcr compulsiou Or throuffh imorance.
"Done under compulsion" means that the cause 8
^ ; is external, the agent or patient contributing nothing
, towards it ; as, for instance, if he were carried some-
where by a whirlwind or by men whom he could not
j:- resist.
/ But there is some question about acts done in order i
to avoid a greater evil, or to obtain some noble end ;
e.g. if a tyrant were to order you to do something dis-
* It mnst be remembered that ''virtue" is synonymoiis with
"praiseworthy habit ; ** 1. 13| 20 j II. 0, 9.
1, 1-7.] THE WILL. 59
graceful^ having your parents or children in his power,
who were to live if you did it, but to die if you did
not^t is a matter of dispute whether such acts are
involuntary or voluntary.
5 Throwing a cargo overboard in a storm is a some-
what analogous case. No one voluntarily throws away /, -
his property if nothing is to come of it,* but any
sensible person would do so to save the life of himself
and the crew.
6 Acts of this kind, then, are of a mixed nature, but
they more nearly resemble voluntary acts. For they
are desired or chosen at the time when they are done,
and the end or motive of an act is that which is in
view at the time. In applying the terms voluntary i^
and involuntary, therefore, we must consider the
state of the agent's mind at the tima Now, he wills
J^the act at the time; for the cause which sets the
limbs going lies in the agent in such cases, and where
the cause lies in the agent, it rests with him to do
or not to do.
Such acts, then, are voluntary, though in them-
selves [or apart from these qualifying circumstances]
we may allow them to be involuntary; for no one
would choose anything of this kind on its own account.
7 And, in fsu^t, for actions of this sort men are
sometimes praised,t e.g, when they endure something
disgraceful or painful in order to secure some great -^
and noble result : but in the contrary case they are
«
* &TX&5, " without qaalification : " no one ohooses loss of property
simply, but loss of property with, saving of life is what all sensible
people would choose.
f Which shows that the acts are regaxded «ya VQ\\m\ax^.
60 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk. HI.
blamed ; for no worthy person would endure the ex-
tremity of disgrace when there was no noble result in
view, or but a trifling one.
But in some cases we do not praise^ but pardon,
^ i,e. when a man is induced to do a wrong act by
pressure which is too strong for human nature and
which no one could bear. Though there are some cases 8
of this kind, I think, where the plea of compulsion is
inadmissible,* and where, rather than do the act, a
man ought to suffer death in its most painful form ;
for instance, the circumstances which "compelled"
Alcmseon in Euripides t to kill his mother seem absurd.
It is sometimes hard to decide whether we ought 9
to do this deed to avoid this evil, or whether we ought
to endure this evil rather than do this deed ; but it is
stiU harder to abide by our decisions : for generally
the evil which we wish to avoid is something painful,
the deed we are pressed to do is something disgrace-
ful ; and hence we are blamed or praised according as
we do or do not suffer ourselves to be compelled.
What kinds of acts, then, are to be called com- lo
pulsory ?
I think our answer must be that, in the first place,
* obK tffnv iLyayKaaOrjucu, " compulsion is impossible." If the aot
was oompTilBor7 it was not my act, I cannot be blamed : there are
^ some acts, says Aristotle, for which we could not foi'give a man, for
m
which, whatever the circumstances, we must blame him ; therefore no
circumstances can compel him, or compulsion is impossible. The
rgument is, in fact, " 1 ought not, therefore I can not (am able not
to do it),'*— like Kant's, " I ought, therefore I can." But, if valid at
all, it is valid universaUy, and the conclusion should be that the
body only can be compelled, and not the will — that a compulsory
act is impossible.
t The play alluded to seems to be entirely lost.
1, 8-11.] THE WILL. 61
when the cause lies outside and the agent has no part
in it^ the act is called, without qualification, " com-
pulsory " [and therefore involuntary]; but that, in the
second place, when an act that would not be volun-
tarily done for its own sake is chosen now in prefer-
ence to this given alternative, the cause lying in the
agent, such an act must be called "involuntary in
itself," or " in the abstract," but " now, and in pre-
ference to this alternative, voluntary." But an act
of the latter kind is rather of the nature of a
voluntary act : for acts fall within the sphere of par-
ticulars ; and here the particular thing that is done is
voluntary.
It is scarcely possible, however, to lay down rules
for determining which of two alternatives is to be
preferred; for there are many differences in the
particular casea
Ll It might, perhaps, be urged that acts whose motive
is something pleasant or something noble are com-
pulsory, for here we are constrained by something
outside us.
But if this were so, all our acts would be com-
pulsory; for these are the motives of every act of
every man.*
Again, acting under compulsion and against one's
will is painful, but action whose motive is something
pleasant or noble involves pleasurcf
* Therefore, strictly speakiog, a " compulsory act " is a contra-
diction in terms ; the real qnestiou is, " What is an act ? "
f Therefore, since these are the motives of every act, all volun-
tary action involves pleasnre. If we add " when successful," this
quite agrees with Aristotle's theory of pleasnre in Books VIIi
and X.
/
V
62 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. OL
It is absurd, then, to blame things outside us
instead of our own readiness to yield to their allure-
ments, and, while we claim our noble acts as our own,
to set down our disgraceful actions to "pleasant
things outside us."
Compulsory, then, it appears, is that of which the l
cause is external, the person compelled contributing
nothing thereto.
What is done through ignorance is always " not- li
voluntary," but is " involuntary " * when the agent
is pained afterwards and sorry when he finds what
he has done.f For when a man, who has done
something through ignorance, is not vexed at what
he has done, you cannot indeed say that he did it
voluntarily, as he did not know what he was doing,
but neither can you say that he did it involuntarily
or unwillingly, since he is not sorry.
A man who has acted through ignorance, then, if he
is sorry afterwards, is held to have done the deed in-
voluntarily or unwillingly ; if he is not sorry after-
wards we may say (to mark the distinction) he did the
deed " not-voluntarily ; " for, as the case is different, it
is better to have a distinct name.
Acting through ignorance, however, seems to be 14
/ different from acting in ignorance. For instance,
when a man is drunk or in a rage he is not thought
♦ t.e. not merely " not -willed," but done " nnwillingly," or
" against the agent's will." Unfortunately our usage recognizes no
such distinction between " not-voluntary " and " inyoluntary."
t iv /Li(Tafi€\c(f, lit. "when the act involves change of mind."
This, under the circumstances, can only mean that the agent who
willed the act, not seeing the true nature of it at the time, is sorry
afterwards, when he comes to see what he has done.
1, 12-17] THE WILL. 63
to act through ignorance, but through intoxication or .
rage, and yet not knowingly, but in ignorance.
Every vicious man, indeed, is ignorant of* what
ought to be done and what ought not to be done, and
it is this kind of error that makes men unjust and
5 bad generally. But the term " involuntary " is not
properly applied to cases in which a man is ignorant
of what is fitting."!* The ignorance that makes an
act involuntary is not this ignorance of the principles
which should determine preference (this constitutes
vice), — ^not, I say, this ignorance of the universal (for
we blame a man for this), but ignorance of the
particular occasion and circumstances of the act
.6 These are the grounds of pity and pardon; for he
who is ignorant of any of these particulars acts
involuntarily.
It may be as well, then, to specify what these
particulars are, and how many. They are — first, the
doer; secondly, the deed; and, thirdly, the circum-
stance or occasion of it ; sometimes also that where-
with (e.g, the instrument with which) it is done,
and that for the sake of which it is done {e.g, for
protection), and the way in which it is done (e.g.
gently or violently.)
7 Now, a man cannot (unless he be mad) be igno-
• i,e* fbrms a wrong judgment j c/. ^ fioxBifipta Sicn^c^ccrOat voici
T€pi rhs TtpiucTucht ^X<^') ^^* 1<3» 10 : not that the vioions man does
not know that snch a conrae is condemned bj sooietj, but he does
not assent to society's rules — ^adopts other maxims contrary to them.
f rh a'vfi4>4pou, what condaces to a given end, expedient. The
meaning of the term varies with the end in view : here the end in
view is the snpreme end, happiness : rh cvfiAp^poy, then, means here
the role of conduct to which, in a given case, the agent must con-
form in order to realize this end j cf. II. 2, 8.
/^
t
64 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IlL
rant of all these particulars ; for instance, he evidently
cannot be ignorant of the doer : for how can he not
know himself?
But a man may be ignorant of what he is doing ;
e.g. a man who has said something will sometimes
plead that the words escaped him unawares, or that
he did not know that the subject was forbidden (as
-ZEschylus pleaded in the case of the Mysteries) ; or a
man might plead that when he discharged the weapon
he only intended to show the working of it, as the
prisoner did in the catapult case. Again, a man might
A/ mistake his son for an enemy, as Merope * did, or a
\ ^* sharp spear for one with a button, or a heavy stone for
^"^ a pumice-stone. Again, one might kill a man with
* a blow intended to save him, or strike a serious blow
■
when one only wished to show how a blow should
be delivered (as boxers do when they spar with open
hands).
Ignorance, then, being possible with regard to all 18
^J these circumstances, he who is ignorant of any of them
is held to have acted involuntarily, and especially
when he is ignorant of the most important particulars,
which are generally taken to be the occasion and the
result.t
Besides this, however, the agent must be grieved M
and sorry for what he has done, if the act thus igno-
rantly committed is to be called involuntary [not
merely not-volimtary].
* Nothing eeems to be known of the case alluded to.
t T^ o5 ^yfKa usually is the intended result (and so cyfiea riros in
§ 16), but of course it is only the actual result that the agent can be
ignorant of.
1, 1&-27.] THB WnX. 66
20 But now, having found that an act is involuntary
when done under compxdsion or through ignorance,
we may conclude that a voluntary act is one which is ^
originated by the doer with knowledge of the parti-
cular circumstances of the act.
21 For I venture to think that it is incorrect to say
that acts done through anger or desire are involuntary*
22 In the first place, if tiiis be so we can no longer
allow that any of the other a.nimal8 act voluntarily/ \^ ^
nor even children. ' c ^ ,'
23 Again, does the saying mean that none of the acts
which we do through desire or anger are voluntary, or
that the noble onesi^are voluntary and the disgraceful*^
ones involuntary ? Interpreted in the latter sense, it
is surely ridiculous, as one man is the author of both.
14 If we take the former interpretation, it is absurd, I
think, to say that we ought to desire a thing, and also to
say that its pursuit is involuntary ; but, in fact^ there
are things at which we ought to be angry, and things
which we ought to desire, e,g. health and learning.
6 Again, it seems that what is done unwillingly is ^
painful, while what is done through desire is pleasant.
6 Again, what difference is there, in respect of in-
voluntariness, between wrong deeds done updn calcu« ^
7 lation and wrong deeds done in anger ? Both alike
are to be avoided, and our unreasoning passions or
feelings seem to be just as much our own [as our
reasonings or calculations].
But the fact is that all human actions proceed ^
either from anger or from desire : * to make all such
actions involuntary, therefore, would be too absurd.
* Not thai reason or calculation cannot modify caUgci) \$«^ ^\
66 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. IH.
purpoM^a 2. Now that we have distinguislied voluntary from l
n^jcAoicc* involuntary acts, our next task is to discuss choice
Miberation. OF purposc. For it sccms to be most intimately con-
nected with virtue, and to be a surer test of character
than action itself.
It seems that choosing is willing, but that the two 2
terms are not identical, willing being the wider. For
children and other animals have will, but not choice
or purpose; and acts done upon the spur of the
moment are said to be voluntary, but not to be done
with deliberate purpose.
tr Those who say that choice is appetite, or anger, or 3
wish, or an opinion of some sort, do not seem to give
a correct account of it.
In the first place, choice is not shared by irra-
^ tional creatures, but appetite and anger are.
Again, the incontinent man acts from appetite 4
and not from ehoice or purpose, the continent man
from purpose and not from appetite.
Again, appetite may be contrary to purpose, but 5
one appetite can not be contrary to another appetite.*
Again, the object of appetite [or aversion] is the
v/ pleasant or the painful, but the object of purpose [as
such] is neither painful nor pleasant.
can only do so by modifying desire or feeling. Erery action (wpt^ut)
issues from a feeling or passion (irddos), which feeling (and there*,
fore the resultant action) is mine (the ontcome of my character,
and therefore imputable to me), whether it be modified by reason
(deliberation, calculation) or no.
• Two appetites may pull two differenty but not contrary ways
{ivcufTiovrai) ; that which not merely diverts but restrains me from
satisfying a,n appetite must be desire of a different kind, e.g. deaize
to do what is right. *Eiri0vfiia is used loosely in cap. 1 for desire
(ifpt^if) , here more strictly for appetite, a species of desire, purpoM
(irpoalptffif) being another species : cf, infrai 8, 19,
2, 1-11.] THE WILL. 67
6 Still less can purpose be anger (OvfAog) ; for acts
done in anger seem to be least of all done of purpose
or deliberate choice.
7 Nor yet is it wish, though it seem very like ; for
we cannot purpose or deliberately choose the impos-
sible, and a man who should say that he did would
be thought a fool ; but we may wish for the impossible,
e.g. to escape death.
8 Again, while we may wish what never could be
effected by our own agency (e.g. the success of a par-
ticular actor or athlete), we never purpose or deliber-
ately choose such things, but only those that we think
may be effected by our own agency.
9 Again, we are more properly said to wish the end,
to choose the means ; e.g. we wish to be healthy, but
we choose what will make us healthy : we wish to be
happy, and confess the wish, but it would not be correct
to say we purpose or deliberately choose to be happy ;
for we may say roundly that purpose or choice deals
with what is in our power.
Nor can it be opinion; for, in the first place,
anything may be matter of opinion — what is un-
alterable and impossible no less than what is in
our power ; and, in the second place, we distinguish
opinion according as it is true or false, not ac-
cording as it is good or bad, as we do with purpose
or choice.
We may say, then, that purpose is not the same
as opinion in general; nor, indeed, does any one
maintain this.
1 But, further, it is not identical with a particular
kind of opinion. For our choice of good or evil
/
68 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. lH
makes us morally good or bad, holding certain opinions
does not.
Again, we choose to take this or to avoid it, and 12
so on ; we opine what its nature is, or what it is good
for, or in what way ; but we cannot opine to take or
to avoid.
Again, we commend a purpose for its rightness 13
rather than its correctness, an opinion for its truth.
Again, we choose a thing when we know well
^ that it is good; we may have an opinion about a
thing of which we know nothing.
Again, it seems that those who are best at choosing 14
are not always the best at forming opinions, but that
^ some who have an excellent judgment fail, through
depravity, to choose what they ought.
It may be said that choice or purpose must be 15
preceded or accompanied by an opinion or judgment;
but this makes no difference : our question is not that^
but whether they are identical '
What, then, is choice or purpose, since it is none 16
of these ?
It seems, as we said> that what is chosen or pur-
posed is willed, but that what is willed is not always
chosen or purposed.
The required differentia, I think, is " after previous 17
\/ deliberation." For choice or purpose implies calcu-^
lation and reasoning. The name itself, too, seems to
indicate this, implying that something is chosen before
or in preference to other things.*
rtioiberau 3. Now, as to deliberation, do we deliberate about 1
• irpocdp€(ns, lit. " choosing before.** Onr " preference " exsiMj
corresponds here^ but nnf ortnnately cannot always be employed.
2, 12-8, 7.] THE WILL. 69
everything, and may anything whatever be msitteT on what %
for deliberation, or are there some things about which <mendt,b
deliberati(Hi is impossible ?
2 By "matter for deliberation" we should under-
stand, I think, not what a fool or a maniac, but what
a rational being would deliberate about.
3 Now, no one deliberates about eternal or unalter-^ y
able things, e,g, the system of the heavenly bodies, or
the incommensurability of the side and the diagonal
of a square.
4 Again, no one deliberates about things which
change, but always change in the same way (whether
the cause of change be necessity, or nature, or any
6 other agency), e.g. the solstices and the sunrise ; * nor
about things that are quite irregular, like drought and
wet; nor about matters of chance, like the finding
of a treasure.
B Again, even human affairs are not always matter
of deliberation ; e.g. what would be the best consti- '^
tution for Scythia is a question that no Spartan
would deliberate about.
The reason why we do not deliberate about
these things is that none of tbem are things thatK^
we can ourselves effect.
7 But the things that we do deliberate about are
matters of conduct that are within our controL And
these are the only things that remain ; for besides
nature and necessity and chance, the only remain-
ing cause of change is reason and human agency in
generaL Though we must add that men severally
deliberate about what they can themselves do.
* These are instances of " necessity ; ** a tree growB hj " nature,"
%.e, bj its own natural powers.
70 NICOMACHEAN ETmOS OF AKISTOTLE. [Bk. m.
V A further limitation is that where there is exact 8
V and absolute knowledge, there is no room for delibera-
tion; e.g, writing: for there is no doubt how the
letters should be formed.
^ We deliberate, then, about things that are brought
, about by our own agency, but not always in the same
'^^-y; ^'9' about medicine and money-making, and
about navigation more than about gymnastic, inas-
much as it is not yet reduced to so perfect a system,
and so on ; but more about matters of art than matters 9
of science, as there is more doubt about them.
Matters of deliberation, then, are matters in lo
which there are rules that generally hold good, but
in which the result cannot be predicted, i,e, in which
there is an element of uncertainty. In important
matters we call in advisers, distrusting our own
powers of judgment.
j/ It is not about ends, but about means that we ii
deliberate. A physician does not deliberate whether
he shall heal, nor an orator whether he shall persuade,
nor a statesman whether he shall make a good system
of laws, nor a man in any other profession about his
end ; but, having some particular end in view, we con-
sider how and by what means this end can be
attained ; and if it appear that it can be attained
by various means, we further consider which is the
easiest and best; but if it can only be attained
by one means, we consider how it is to be attained
by this means, and how this means itself is to be
. secured, and so on, until we come to the first link '
in the chain of causes, which is last in the order of
discovery.
3, 8-16.] THE WILL. 71
For in deliberation we seem to inquire and to
analyze in the way described, just as we analyze a
geometrical figure in order to learn how to construct
2 it * (and though inquiry is not always deliberation —
mathematical inquiry, for instance, is not — delibera*
tion is always inquiry); [that which is last in the
analysis coming first in the order of construction.
13 If we come upon something impossible, we give up
the plan ; e.g. if it needs money, and money cannot
be got : but if it appear possible, we set to work. By /^'
possible I mean something that can be done by ua;
and what can be done by our friends can in a manner
be done by us \ for it is we who set our friends to
work.
A Sometimes we have to find out instruments, some-
times how to use them; and so on with the rest: some- K
times we have to find out what agency will produce
the desired efiect, sometimes how or through whom
this agency is to be set at work.
.6 Now, it appears that a man, as we have already
said, originates his acts ; that he deliberates about that
which he can do himself, and that what he does is done
6 for the sake of something else.t From this it follows
♦ If we have to constmct a geometrical figure, we first " snppose
it done,'' then analyze the imagined figure in order to see the con-
ditions which it implies and which imply it, and continne the chain
till we come to some thing (drawing of some lines) which we already
know how to do.
t 0/. m. 2, 9, and 6, 1, and X. 7, 5. There is no real incon-
sistency between this and the doctrine that the . end of life is
life, that the good act is to be chosen for its own sake (II. 4, 3),
because it is noble (III. 7, 13) : for the end is not outside the
means; happiness or the perfect life is the complete system of
these acts, and the real nature of each act is determined by its rela*
/
72 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IIL
that he does not deliberate about the end, but about
i/ the means to the end.
Again, he does not deliberate about particular facts,
e.g, whether this be a loaf, or whether it be properly-
baked: these are matters of immediate perception.
And if he goes on deliberating for ever he will never
come to a conclusion.
The object of deliberation and the object of choice 17
y or purpose are the same, except that the latter is
already fixed and determined; when we say, "this
is chosen " or '* purposed," we mean that it has been
selected after deliberation. For we always stop in our
inquiry how to do a thing when we have traced back
the chain of causes to ourselves, and to the com-
manding part of ourselves ; for this is the part that
chooses.
This may be illustrated by the ancient constitu- 18
tions which Homer describes; for there the kings
announce to the people what they have chosen.
Since, then, a thing is said to be chosen or pur- 19
posed when, being in our power, it is desired after
^ deliberation, choice or purpose may be defined as
deliberate desire for something in our power; for
we first deliberate, and then, having made our
decision thereupon, we desire in accordance with
deliberation.
Let this stand, then, for an account in outline of 20
choice or purpose, and of what it deals with, viz.
means to ends.
ijwi»A/or/ 4. Wish, we have already said, is for the end; but i
tion to this sjstem ; to choose it as a means to thJs end is to choose
it for itself.
3, 17-4, 6j THE WILL. 73
-whereas some hold that the object of wish is the good *^
others hold that it is what seems good.
8 Those who maintain that the object of wish * is ,
the good have to admit that what those wish for who
choose wrongly is not object of wish (for if so it
would be good ; but it may so happen that it was
3 bad); on the other hand, those who maintain that
the object of wish is what seems good have to admit
that there is nothing which is naturally object of
wish, but that each wishes for what seems good to
him — different and even contrary things seeming
good to different people.
4 As neither of these alternatives quite satisfies us,
perhaps we had better say that the good is the real ^
object of wish (without any qualifying epithet), but
that what seeifis good is object of wish to each ^
man. Tha good man, then, wishes for the real object
of wish ; but what the bad man wishes for may be
anything whatever ; just as, with regard to the body,
those who are in good condition find those things
healthy that are really healthy, while those who are
diseased find other things healthy (and it is just the
same with things bitter, sweet, hot, heavy, etc.) : for
the good or ideal man judges each case correctly, and
in each case what is true seems true to him.
6 For, corresponding to each of our trained faculties,
there is a special form of the noble and the pleasant,
* fiovKrirSu. This word hovers between two senses, (1) wished
for, (2) to be wished for, just as aiptrSv hovers between (1) desired,
(2) desirable. The diffionlty, as here pnt, tarns entirely npon the
eqaivocation; bat at bottom lies the fundamental question, whether
there be a eommon human nature, such that we o«n Buy, ** This kind
of life is man*s real life."
y
74 NICOMAGHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IH
and perhaps there is noiJiing so distinctive of the
good or ideal man as the power he has of discerning
these special forms in each case, being himself, as it
were, their standard and measure.
What misleads people seems to be in most cases
pleasure ; it seems to be a good thing, even when it is
not. So they choose what is pleasant as good, and
shun pain as eviL
TiriiiAans, yr 6. We havc seen that, while we wish for the end, 1
vic€ are alike
voluntary: we deliberate upon and choose the means thereto.
ouractiare i • t t • t Ji_ mi
^ ouroum:for Actious that are concerned with means, then, will
we are /
Sm'^twi ^® guided by choice, and so will be voluntary.
be our But the acts in which the virtues are manifested
characUTttoe
^noSa^*' are concerned with means.*
bSdiiy^ y Therefore virtue depends upon ourselves : and 8
SSS^'Slf ^ vice likewise. For where it lies with us to do, it
S^pieS lies with us not to do. Where we can say no, we
^?foSir^ can say yes. If then the doing a deed, which is
^^''' noble, lies with us, the not doing it, which is dis-
na^un:for graceful, Kcs with us; and if the not doing, which is
u^f^^ noble, lies with us, the doing, which is disgraceful,
wrfJ? also lies with us. But if the doing and likewise the 8
tolJSLJfSr- ^ot doing of noble or base deeds lies with us, and if
this is, as we found, identical with being good or bad,
then it follows that it lies with us to be worthy or
worthless men.
And so the saying— 4
" None would be wicked, none would not be blessed,**
• Each virtuous act is desired and chosen as a means to lealiziiig
a particular virtue, and this again is desired as a part or oon-
Btituent of, and so as a means to, that perfect self-realization whidi
is happiness : c/. 8, 15.
selves tcha^
we are.
6, 1-8.3 TAB WILL. 76
seems partly false and partly true : no one indeed
is blessed against his will ; but vice is voluntary.
K we deny this, we must dispute the statements
made just now, and must contend that man is not the
originator and the parent of his actions, as of his
children.
But if those statements commend themselves to
us, and if we are unable to trace our acts to any
other sources than those that depend upon oiurselves,
then that whose source is within us must itself
depend upon us and be voluntary.
This seems to be attested, moreover, by each one of
us in private life, and also by the legislators; for they
correct and punish those that do evil (except when it
is done under compulsion, or through ignorance for
which the agent is not responsible), and honour those
that do noble deeds, evidently intending to encourage
the one sort and discourage the other. But no one
encourages us to do that which does not depend on
ourselves, and which is not voluntary : it would bo
useless to be persuaded not to feel heat or pain or
hunger and so on, as we should feel them all the same*
I say " ignorance for which the agent is not re-
sponsible," for the ignorance itself is punished by the
law, if the agent appear to be responsible for his
ignorance, e.g. for an offence committed in a fit of
drunkenness the penalty is doubled: for the origin
of the offence lies in the man himself; he might have
avoided the intoxication, which was the cause of his
ignorance. Again, ignorance of any of the ordinances
of the law, which a man ought to know and easily
can know, does not avert punishment. And so in
1^
76 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IIL
other cases, where ignorance seems to be the result of s
negligence, the offender is punished, since it lay with
him to remove this ignorance; for he might have
taken the requisite trouble.
It may be objected that it was the man's character i
not to take the trouble.
We reply that men are themselves responsible for
acquiring such a character by a dissolute life, and for
being unjust or profligate in consequence of repeated
acts of wrong, or of spending their time in drinking
and so on. For it is repeated acts of a particular
kind that give a man a particular character.
V This is shown by the way in which men train 11
themselves for any kind of contest or performance:
they practise continually.
Not to know, then, that repeated acts of this or 12
that kind produce a corresponding character or habit,
shows an utter want of sense.
Moreover, it is absurd to say that he who acts 13
unjustly does not wish to be unjust, or that he who
behaves profligately does not wish to be profligate.
^L If then a man knowingly does acts which must 14
make him unjust, he wiU be voluntarily unjust; but
it does not foUow that, if he wishes it, he can cease to
be imjust and be just, any more than he who is sick
can, if he wishes it, be whola And it may be that
he is voluntarily sick, through living incontinently
and disobeying the doctor. At one time, then, he had
the option not to be sick, but he no longer has it now
that he has thrown away his health. When you
have discharged a stone it is no longer in your power
to call it back; but nevertheless the throwing and
fi, 9-I7-] THE WILL. 77
casting away of that etona rests with you ; for the "y
beginning of its flight depended upon you.* )
Just so the unjust or the profligate man at thft
beginning was free not to acquire tliia character, and
therefore he is voluntarily unjust or profligE^ ; but
now that he has acc[uired it, he is no longer free to put
it ofl:
But it is not only our mental or moral vices that .
are voluntary ; bodily vices also are sometimes volun-
tary, and then are censured, We do not censure
natural ugliness, but we do censure that which is due
to negligence and want of exercise. And so with
weakness, and infirmity ; we should never reproach a
man who was bom blind, or had lost his sight in aa
illness or by a blow — we should rather pity him ; but
we should all censure a man who had blinded himself
by excessive drinking or any other kind of profligacy.
j We see, then, that of the vices of the body it is
those that depend on ourselves that are censured,
while those that do not depend on ourselves are not
censured. And if this be so, then in other fields also
those vices that are blamed must depend upon oi^-
selves.
7 Some people may perhaps object to this,
"All men," they may say, "desire that which
appears good to them, but cannot control this ajipear-
ance ; a man's character, whatever it be, decides what^
shall appear to him to bo the end."
* My act ia ■nans, and does not ceaaa to be mine becunae I woald
nndo it if I conld ; imd eo, further, since we made the habits whose
bonds we cannot now unloose, we are responsible, not merely for the
acta which made them, bnt also for the acts which thoy now pro-
dnoe " in epite ot oa : " whttt comtraiua us ia onrselres.
78 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. m.
If, I answer, each man be in some way responsible
for his habits or character, then in some way he must
be responsible for this appearance also.
But if this be not the case, then a man is not
responsible for, or is not the cause of, his own evil
doing, but it is through ignorance of the end that he
/ does evil, fancying that thereby he will secure the
^eatest good: and the striving towards the true
end does not depend on our own choice, but a man
must be bom with a gift of sight, so to speak, if he is
to discriminate rightly and to choose what is really
good : and he is truly well-bom who is by nature
richly endowed with this gift ; for, as it is the greatest
and the fairest gift, which we cannot acquire or
learn from another, but must keep all our lives just
as nature gave it to us, to be well and nobly bom in
this respect is to be well-born in the truest and com-
pletest sense.
Now, even supposing this to be true, how will 18
virtue be any more voluntary than vice ?
For whether it be nature or anything else that
determines what shall appear to be the end, it is de-
termined in the same way for both alike, for the good
man as for the bad, and both alike refer all their
acts of whatever kind to it.
And so whether we hold that it is not merely M
nature that decides what appears to each to be the
end (whatever that be), but that the man himself
contributes something ; or whether we hold that the
end is fixed by nature, but that virtue is voluntary,
v/ inasmuch as the good man voluntarily takes the steps
to that end — ^in either case vice will be just as volun-
6, 18-22.] THE WILL. 79
tary as virtue ; for self is active in the bad man just
as much as in the good man, in choosing the particular
acts at least, if not in determining the end. ^
If then, as is generally allowed, the virtues are
voluntary (for we do, in fact, in some way help to
make our character, and, by being of a certain cha-
racter, give a certain complexion to our idea of the
end), the vices also must be voluntary; for all this
applies equally to them.
We have thus described in outline the nature of the
virtues in general, viz. that they are forms of moder-
ation or modes of observing the mean, and that they
are habits or trained faculties ; and we have shown
what produces them, and how they themselves issue
in the performance of the same acts which produce
them, and that they depend on ourselves and are
volimtary, and that they follow the guidance of right
reason.
But our particular acts are not voluntary in the
same sense as our habits.
We are masters of our acts from beginning to end,
when we know the particular circumstances ; but we
are masters of the beginnings only of our habits or
characters, while their growth by gradual steps is
imperceptible, like the growth of disease. Inasmuch,
however, as it lay with us to employ or not to em-
ploy our faculties in this way, the resulting characters
are on that account voluntary.
i^
80 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bjk. Ul
BOOK IIL CHAPTEB 8. — END OF BOOK V. THE SEVERAL
MORAL VIRTUES AND VICEa
Of courage 6. Now let US take up each of the virtues again l
oppMite in turn, and say what it is, and what its subject is,
and how it deals with it ; and in doing this, we shall
at the same time see how many they are.
First of all, let us take courage. 2
We have already said that it is moderation or
L-^ observance of the mean with respect to feelings of
fear and confidence.
Now, fear evidently is excited by fearful things,
and these are, roughly speaking, evU things; and
SO fear is sometimes defined as "expectation of
eva"
Fear, then, is excited by evil of any kind, e.g. by 8
disgrace, poverty, disease, friendlessness, death; but
it does not appear that every kind gives scope for
courage. There are things which we actually ought
to fear, which it is noble to fear and base not to fear,
e.g. disgrace. He who fears disgrace is an honourable
man, with a due sense of shame, while he who fears it
not is shameless (though some people stretch the word 4
courageous so far as to apply it to him ; for he has a
certain resemblance to the courageous man, courage
also being a kind of fearlessness). Poverty, per-
haps, we ought not to fear, nor disease, nor generally
those things that are not the result of vice, and do
not depend upon ourselves. But still to be fearless
in regard to these things is not strictly courage;
6, 1-11.] COUKAGB. 81
though here also the term is sometimes applied in
virtue of a certain resemblance. There are people,
for instance, who, though cowardly in the presence
of the dangers of war, ai-e yet liberal and bold in the
spending of money.
1 On the other hand, a man ia not to be called
cowardly for fearing outrage to his children or hia
wife, or for dreading envy and things of that kind,
nor courageous for being unmoved by the prospect
of a whipping.
1 In what kind of terrors, then, does the courageous
man display his quality? Surely in the greatest;
for no one is more able to endure what is terrible.
But of all things the most terrible is death ; for death
is our limit, and when a man is once dead it seems
that there is no longer either good or evil for him.
' It would seem, however, that even death does not
on all occasions give scope for courage, e.g. death by
water or by diaeaae,
* On what occasions then ? Surely on the noblest
occasions : and those are the occasions which occur in
war ; for they involve the greatest and the noblest
danger,
I This is confirmed by the honours which courage
receives in free states and at the hands of princes.
I The term courageous, then, in the strict senise, will
be applied to him who fearlessly faces an honourable
death and all sudden emergencies which involve
death ; and such emergencies mostly occur in war.
I Of course the courageous man ia fearless in 'ttie
presence of illness also, and at sea, but in a different
way from the sailors ; for the sailors, because of their
t^
L i J
82 KICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. UL
experience, are full of hope when the landsmen are
already despairing of their lives and filled with aver-
sion at the thought of snch a death.
Moreover, the drcumstanees which especially crJl 12
out courage are those in which prowess may be dis-
played, or in which death is noble; but in these
forms of death there is neither nobiliiy nor room for
prowess.
7. Fear is not excited in all men by the same 1
things, but yet we commonly speak of fearful things
that surpass man's power to face. Such things, then,
inspire fear in every rational man. But the fearful
things that a man may face differ in importance and
in being more or less fearful (and so with the things
that inspire confidence). Now, the courageous man 2
always keeps his presence of mind (so far as a man
can). So though he will fear these fearful things, he
wiU endure them as he ought and as reason bids him,
for the sake of that which is noble ; * for this is the
end or aim of virtue.
But it is possible to fear these things too much or 8
\y too little, and again to take as fearful what is not
^eally so. And thus men err sometimes by fearing 4
the wrong things, sometimes by fearing in the wrong
manner or at the wrong time, and so on.
And all this applies equally to things that ini^ire
confidence.
He, then, that endures and fears what he ought 5
from the right motive, and in the right manner, and
* to^ fcoXoD Ivcica, the highesfc expression that Aristotle has for
the moral motive, = koXov Ivcica (§ 6) and Sri icax<$v(§ 13), " as a means
to or as a constitnent part of the noble life."
6, 12^7, 9.] COURAGE. 83
at the right time^ and similarly feels confidence, is
courageoua
For the courageous man regulates both his feeling
and his action according to the merits of each case
and as reason bids him.
6 But the end or motive of every manifestation of
a habit or exercise of a trained faculty is the end or
motive of the habit or trained faculty itself
Now, to the courageous man courage is essentially
a fair or noble thing
Therefore the end or motive of his courage is also
noble ; for everything takes its character from its end.
It is from a noble motive, therefore, that the
courageous man endures and acts courageously in each
particidar case.* .
7 Of the characters that run to excess, he that^
exceeds in fearlessness has no name (and this is often
the case, as we have said before) ; but a man would
be either a maniac or quite insensible to pain who
should fear nothing, not even earthquakes and
breakers, as thoy say is the case with the Celts.
He that is over-confident in the presence of
8 fearful things is called foolhardy. But the foolhardy
man is generally thought to be really a braggart, and
to pretend a courage which he has not. He wishes
therefore to seem what the courageous man really
is in the presence of danger; so he imitates him
9 where he can. And so your foolhardy man is gene-
rally a coward at bottom : he blusters so long as he
* The courageous man desires the courageous act for the same
reaHon for which he desires the virtue itself, viz. simply because it is
noble : see note on § 2.
s/
84 NICOMACHEAN ETmOS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Ill
can do so safely,* but turns tail when real danger
comes.
He who is over-fearful is a coward ; for he fears lo
what he ought not, and as he ought not, etc.
He is also deficient in confidence; but his
character rather displays itself in excess of fear in the
presence of pain.
The coward is also despondent, for he is frightened ii
at everything. But it is the contrary with the
courageous man ; for confidence implies hopefulnesa \
Thus the coward and the foolhardy and the 12
courageous man display their characters in the same
circumstances, behaving difierently under them: for
while the former exceed or fall short, the latter
behaves moderately and as he ought ; and while the
foolhardy are precipitate and eager before , danger
comes, but fall away in its presence, the courageous
are keen in action, but quiet enough beforehand.
Courage then, as we have said, is observance of
the mean with regard to things that excite confidence
or fear, under the circumstances which we have
siDCcified, and chooses its course and sticks to its post 13
because it is noble to do so, or because it is disgrace-
ful not to do so.
But to seek death as a refuge from poverty, or love,
or any painful thing, is not the act of a brave man, but
of a coward. For it is efieminacy thus to fly from
vexation ; and in such a case death is accepted not
because it is noble, but simply as an escape from
evil.
* iv roirois, i.e, iv oh B^varou, so long as lie can imitate the
courageoas man without being courageous.
t^
7, 10-8, 4.] COURAGE. 85
8. Courage proper, then, is something of this sort. g^««"^
But besides this there are five other kinds of «oS^
courage so called.
Firsi, "political courage," which most resembles
true courage.
Citizens seem often to face dangers because of
legal pains and penalties on the one hand, and
a honours on the other. And on this account the
people seem to be most courageous in those states
where cowards are disgraced and brave men honoured.
This, too, is the kind of courage which inspires
Homer's characters, e.gr. Diomede and Hector.
" Polydamas will then reproach me first," *
says Hector ; and so Diomede :
*' Hector one day will speak among his folk
And say, * The son of Tydens at my hand * *' f
3 This courage is most like that which we described
above, because its impulse is a virtuous one, viz*
a sense of honour (alSwc), and desire for a noble thing
(glory), and aversion to reproach, which is dis-
gracefuL
4 We might, perhaps, put in the same class men who
are forced to fight by their officers ; but they are in-
ferior, inasmuch as what impels them is not a sense
of honour, but fear, and what they shun is not disgrace,
but pain. For those in authority compel them in
Hector's fa^shion —
*' Wheso is seen to sknlk and shirk the fight
Shall nowise save his carcase from the dog^." X
• II., xxii. 200. t Ibid., viii. 148, 149.
J Ibid., XV. 348, u. 391.
86 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Ill
And the same thing is done by commanders who 5
order their men to stand, and flog them if they nm,
or draw them up with a ditch in their rear, and so
on : all alike, I mean, employ compulsion.
\/ But a man ought to be courageous, not under
compulsion, but because it is noble to be so.
Secondly, experience in this or that matter is 6
sometimes thought to be a sort of courage ; and this
indeed is the ground of the Socratic notion that
\x^ courage is knowledge.
This sort of courage is exhibited by various
persons in various matters, but notably by regular
troops in military affairs ; for it seems that in war
there are many occasions of groundless alarm, and
with these the regulars are better acquainted; so
they appear to be courageous, simply because the
other troops do not understand the real state of the
case.
. j^- Again, the regular troops by reason of their 7
-^^^.experience are more efficient both in attack and
defence; for they are skilled in the use of their
weapons, and are also furnished with the best kind
of arms for both purposes. So they fight with the 8
advantage of armed over unarmed men, or of trained
over untrained men; for in athletic contests also it
is not the bravest men that can fight best, but those
who are strongest and have their bodies in the best
order.
But these regular troops turn cowards whenever 9
the danger rises to a certain height and they find
themselves inferior in numbers and equipment ; then
they are the first to fly, while the citizen-troops stand
.v*'
8, 6-11.] COURAGE. 87
and are cut to pieces^ as happened at the temple of
Hermes.* For the citizens deem it base to fly, and
hold death preferable to saving their lives on these
terms; but the regulars originally met the danger
only because they fancied they were stronger, and
run away when they learn the truth, fearing death
more than disgrace. But that is not what we mean
by courageous.
Thirdly^ people sometimes include rage within the Ir
meaning of the term courage. Ji'
Those who in sheer rage turn like wild beasts
on those who have wounded them are taken for
courageous, because the courageous man also is full
of rage ; for rage is above all things eager to rush on
danger ; so we find in Homer, " Put might into his
rage," and " roused his wrath and rage," and " fierce
wrath breathed through his nostrils," and " his blood
boiled." For all these expressions seem to signify
the awakening and the bursting out of rage.
The truly courageous man, then, is moved to act
by what is noble, rage helping him : but beasts are
moved by pain, i.e, by blows or by fear; for in a
wood or a marsh they do not attack man. And so
beasts are not courageous, since it is pain and rage
that drives them to rush on danger, without foresee-
ing any of ihe terrible consequences. If this be
courage, then asses must be called courageous when
they are hungry; for though you beat them they
will not leave ofi" eating. Adulterers also are moved
to do many bold deeds by their lust.
* Oatside Coronea, when the town was betrayed, in the Saorcd
88 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. UI.
Being driven to face danger by pain or rage, then, 12
is not courage proper. However, this kind of courage,
whose impulse is rage, seems to be the most natural,
and, when deUberate purpose and the right motive
are added to it, to become real courage.
Again, anger is a painful state, the act of revenge
is pleasant ; but those who fight from these motives
[i.e. to avoid the pain or gain the pleasure] may fight
well, but are not courageous: for they do not act
because it is noble to act so, or as reason bids, but are
driven by their passions; though they bear some
resemblance to the courageous man.
Fourthly, the sanguine man is not properly called 13
courageous : he is confident in danger because he has
often won and has defeated many adversaries The
two resemble one another, since both are confident;
but whereas the courageous man is confident for the
reasons specified above, the sanguine man is confident
because he thinks he is superior and will win without
receiving a scratch. (People behave in the same sort 14
of way when they get drunk ; for then they become
sanguine.) But when he finds that this is not the
case, he runs away ; while it is the character of the
courageous man, as we saw, to face that which is
terrible to a man even when he sees the danger,
because it is noble to do so and base not to do so.
And so (it is thought) it needs greater isourage to \i
be fearless and cool in sudden danger than in danger
that has been foreseen; for behaviour in the former
case is more directly the outcome of formed character,
or, in other words, is less dependent on preparation.
When we see what is coming we may choose to meet
8, 12-9, 2.] COUBAGB. 83
it, as ihe result of calculation and reasoning, but when
it comes upon us suddenly we must choose according
to our character.
6 Fifthly^ those who are unaware of their danger L/^
sometimes appear to be courageous, and in fact are
not veiy far removed from the sanguine persons we
last spoke of, only they are inferior in that they have
not necessarily any opinion of themselves, which the
sanguine must have. And so while the latter hold
their ground for some time, the former, whose courage
was due to a false belief, run away the moment they
perceive or suspect that the case is different ; as the
Argives did when they engaged the Spartans under
the idea that they were Sicyonians.*
7 Thus we have described the character of the
courageous man, and of those who are taken lor
courageous.
But there is another point to notice.
1 9. Couraffe is concerned, as we said, with feelins^ how wura
both of confidence and of fear, yet it is not equally pacnand
concerned with both, but more with occasions of fear :
it is the man who is cool and behaves as he ought on
such occasions that is called courageous, rather than
he who behaves thus on occasions that inspire con-
fidence.
And so, as we said, men are called courageous for
enduring painful things.
2 Courage, therefore, brings pain, and is justly
praised ; for it is harder to endure what is painful
than to abstain from what is pleasant.
I do not, of course, mean to say that the end of
* The incident is narrated by Xenophon, Hell., it. 10.
90 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. IBk. m.
courage is not pleasant^ but that it seems to be hidden
from view by the attendant circumstances, as is the
case in gymnastic contests also. Boxers, for instance,
have a pleasant end in view, that fcr which they
strive, the crown and the honours; but the blows
they receive are grievous to flesh and blood, and
painful, and so are all the labours they undergo ; and
as the latter are many, while the end is small^ the
pleasantness of the end is hardly apparent.
If, then, the case of courage is analogous, death s
and wounds will be pain;ful to the courageous man
and against his will, but he endures them because it
is noble to do so or base not to do so.
And the more he is endowed with every virtue, 4
and the happier he is, the more grievous will death
be to him ; for life is more worth living to a man of
his sort than to any one else, and he deprives himself
knowingly of the very best things ; and it is painful
to do that. But he is no less courageous because he 5
feels this pain; nay, we may say he is even more
courageous, because in spite of it he chooses noble
conduct in battle in preference to those good things.
I. Thus we see that the rule that the exercise of a
virtue is pleasant * does not apply to all the virtues,
except in so far as the end is attained.
Still there is, perhaps, no reason why men of this 6
character should not be less efficient as soldiers than
those who are not so courageous, but have nothing
good to lose ; for such men are reckless of risk, and
will sell their lives for a small price.
Here let us close our account of courage ; it will 7
♦ C/. L 8, 10, f.
9, 3-10, 4] TEMPERANCE. 91
not be hard to gather an outline of its nature from
what we have said.
10. After courage, let us speak of temperance, or temper.
for these two seem to be the virtues of the irrational *^
parts of our nature.
We have already said that temperance is modera-
tion or dbservance of the mean with regard to
pleasures (for it is not concerned with pains so much,
nor in the same manner); profligacy also manifests
itself in the same field.
Let us now determine what kind of pleasures
these are.
First, let us accept as established the distinction
between the pleasures of the body and the pleasures
of the soul, such as the pleasures of gratified ambition
or love of learning.
When he who loves honour or learning is
delighted by that which he loves, it is not his body
that is affected, but his mind. But men are not
called either temperate or profligate for their be-
haviour with regard to these pleasures ; nor for their
behaviour with regard to any other pleasures that
are not of the body. For instance, those who are
fond of gossip and of telling stories, and spend their aA /j
days in trifles, are called babblers, but not profligate ; O^^a*^
nor do we apply this term to those who are pained
beyond measure at the loss of money or friends.
Temperance, then, will be concerned with the
pleasures of the body, but not with all of these even :
for those who delight in the use of their eyesight, in
colours and forms and painting, are not called either
temperate or profligate ; and yet it would seem that
/
92 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AKISTOTLE. [Bk. IIL
it is possible to take delight in these things too as
one ought, and also more or less than one ought.
Ati<^ so with the sense of hearing : a man is never 5
called profligate for takmg an excessive delight in
music or in acting, nor temperate for taking a proper
delight in them.
Nor are these terms applied with respect to the 6
sense of smell, except accidentally.' We do not say
that those who delist in the smell of froit or roses
or incense are profligate, but rather those who delight
in the smell of unguents and savoury dishes ; for the
profligate delights in these smells because they re-
mind him of the things that he lusts after.
Tou may, indeed, see other people taking delight 7
in the smell of food when they are hungry; but only
a profligate takes delight in such smells [constantly],
as he alone is [constantly] lusting after such things.
The lower animals, moreover, do not get pleasure 8
through these senses, except accidentally. It is not
the scent of a hare that delights a dog, but the eating
of it; only the announcement comes through his
sense of smelL The lion rejoices not in the lowing
of the ox, but in the devouring of him ; but as the
lowing announces that the ox is near, the lion appears
to delight in the sound itself. So also, it is not seeing
or discovering a stag or a wild goat that pleases him,
but the anticipation of a meaL
Temperance and profligacy, then, have to do with 9
those kinds of pleasure which are common to the
lower animals, for which reason they seem to be
slavish and brutal; I mean the pleasures of touch
and taste.
10, 5-11, 1.] TEMPEBANOB. 93
Taste, however, seems to play but a small part
here, or perhaps no part at alL For it is the function
of taste to distinguish flavours, as is done by wine-
tasters and by those who season dishes ; but it is by
no means this discrimination of objects that gives
delight (to profligates, at any rate), but the actual
enjoyment of them, the medium of which is always
the sense of touch, alike in the pleasures of eating,
of drinking, and of sexual intercourse.
And hence a certain gourmand wished that his
throat were longer than a crane's, thereby implying
that his pleasure was derived from the sense of touch.
That sense, then, with which profligacy is concerned
is of all senses the commonest or most widespread; ^/
and so profligacy would seem to be deservedly of all
vices the most censured, inasmuch as it attaches not
to our human, but to our animal nature.
To set one's delight in things of this kind, then,
and to love them more than all things, is brutish.
And further, the more manly sort even of the
pleasures of touch are discarded by the profligate,
such as the pleasures which the gymnast finds in
rubbing and the warm bath ; for the profligate does
not cultivate the sense of touch over his whole body,
but in certain parts only.
11. Now, of our desires or appetites some appear
to be common to the race, others to be individual and
acquired.
Thus the desire of food is natural [or common to
the race] ; every man when he is in want desires meat
or drink, or sometimes both, and sexual intercourse, as
Homer says, when he is young and vigorous.
9 4 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IIL
But not all men desire to satisfy their wants in
this or that particular way, nor do all desire the same
things ; and therefore such desire appears to be pecu-
liar to ourselves, or individuaL
Of course it is also partly natural : diflferent people 2
are pleased by different things, and yet there are
some things which all men like better than others.
Firstly, then, in the matter of our natural or 3
\ common desires but few err, and that only on one
side, viz. on the side of excess ; e,g. to eat or drink of
whatever is set before you till you can hold no more
is to exceed what is natural in point of quantity,
for natural desire or appetite is for the filling of
our want simply. And so such people are called
" belly-mad," implying that they fill their bellies too
full.
It is only utterly slavish natures that acquire this
vice.
Secondly, with regard to those pleasures that are 4
individual [i.e. which attend the gratification of our
individual desires] many people 6rr in various ways.
People are called fond of this or that because they
delight either in wrong things, or in undue measure,
or as the many do, or in a wrong fashion. Now, in
all these ways the profligates exceed. They delight in
some things in which they ought not to delight (since
they are hateful things), and if it be right to delight
in any of these things they delight in them more than
is right, and as the many do.
It is plain, then, that excess in these pleasures is 5
profligacy, and is a thing to be blamed.
But in respect of the corresponding pains the case
TEMPERANCE.
is not the same here as it was with regard to courage;
a man is not called temperate for bearing them, and
profligate for not bearing them; hut the profligate
mania called profligate for heingmore pained than he
ought at not getting certain pleasant thioga (his pain
being caused by hia pleasure*), and the temperate
man ia called temperate because the absence of these
pleasant things or the abstinence from them ia not
painful to him.
6 The profligate, then, desires all pleasant things or
those that are most intensely pleasant, and is led by
his desire so as to choose these in preference to all other
things. And so he is constantly pained by failing to
get tbera and by lusting after them : for all appetite
involves pain; but it seems a strange thing to be
pained for the sake of pleasure.
r People who fall short in the matter of pleasure^,
and take leas delight than they ought in these things,
are hardly found at all ; for this sort of insens:
is scarcely in human natura And indeed even the
lower animals discriminate kinds of food, and delight
in some and not in others; and a being to whom
nothing was pleasant, and who found no difference
between one thing and another, would be very far
removed from being a man. We have no name for
such a being, because he does not exist.
1 But the temperate man observes the mean in these
things. He takes no pleasure in those things that
the profligate most delights in (but rather disdains
• Cf. VII, 14, 2; "the oppoaite of this
going -without B wronK pleasure] ia not pain,
gsta hia heart on this escBHsiTe pleaanro."
opl™
reI.-.<
except to the man who
96 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. IH.
them), nor generally in the wrong things, nor very
much in any of these things,* and when they are
absent he is not pained, nor does he desire them, or
desires them but moderately, not more than he ought,
nor at the wrong time, etc. ; but those things which,
being pleasant, at the same time conduce to health
and good condition, he will desire moderately and in
the right manner, and other pleasant things also, pro-
vided they are not injurious, or incompatible with
what is noble, or beyond his means ; for he who cares
for them then, cares for them more than is fitting, and
the temperate man is not apt to do that, but rather
to be guided by right reason.
row pro/It- v.- 12. Profligacy seems to be more voluntary than l
^unuiry^ cowardicc.
^rdice. FoT a man is impelled to the former by pleasure,
to the latter by pain ; but pleasure is a thing we choose,
while pain is a thing we avoid. Pain puts us beside 2
ourselves and upsets the nature of the sufferer, while
pleasure has no such effect, but leaves free play to the
\ wilL
''^^ Profligacy is for these reasons more to be blamed
than cowardice, and for another reason too, viz. that
it is easier to train one's self to behave rightly on these
occasions [i.e. those in which profligacy is displayed];
for such occasions are constantly occurring in our
lives, and the training involves no risk; but with
occasions of fear the contrary is the case.
Again, it would seem that the habit of mind or S
character called cowardice is more volimtary than
the particular acts in which it is exhibited. It is not
* i,e, the pleasures of taste and tonoh.
18, 1-7.] TEMPEBANCB, 97
painful to be a coward, but the occasions which exhibit
cowardice put men beside themselves through fear of
pain, so that they throw away their arms and alto-
gether disgrace themselves ; and hence these particular
acts are even thought to be compulsory.
In the case of the profligate, on the contrary, the
particular acts are voluntary (for they are done with
appetite and desire), but the character itself less so ;
for no one desires to be a profligate.
The term " profligacy " we apply also to childish
faults,* for they have some sort of resemblance. It
makes no difference for our present purpose which of
the two is named after the other, but it is plain that
the later is named after the earlier.
And the metaphor, I think, is not a bad one: what
needs " chastening " or " correction " t is that which
inclines to base things and which has great powers of
expansion. Now, these characteristics are nowhere
BO strongly marked as in appetite and in childhood ;
children too [as well as the profligate] live according
to their appetites, and the desire for pleasant things is
most pronounced in them. If then this element be not
submissive and obedient to the governing principle,
it will make great head : for the desire for pleasant
things is insatiable, and in an irrational being is ready
to satisfy itself in any way, and the exercise of the
appetite increases the natural tendency: and if the
desires are great and intense they will even thrust out
reason altogether : so it is needful that they be few
* Of cotirse the Englisli term is not so used,
t K6\a/ffiSf chasteniug; iuc6\a(TTos, uncliastened, inoorrigiblet
psx>fiigate.
H
^/
98 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. CBk. m
and moderate, and in no respect opposed to reason.
But 'when this part of our nature is in this state 8
we call it submissive and "chastened;" for as a child
should live in subjection to his tutor, so should the
appetites be subject to reason.
\y And so the appetites of the temperate man should 9
be in harmony with his reason; for the aim of both
is that which is noble: the temperate man desires
what he ought, and as he ought, and when he ought;
and this again is what reason prescribes.
This, then, may be taken as an account of tem-
perance.
BOOK IV.
THE SAME — Contimud.
1 1. Liberality, of which we will next speak, o/nberaii
seems to be moderation in the matter of wealth.
What we commend in a liberal man is his behaviour,
not in war, nor in those circumstances in which tem-
perance is commended, nor yet in passing judgment,
but in the giving and taking of wealth, and especially
2 in the giving — wealth meaning all those things whose
value can be measured in money.
3 But both prodigality and illiberality are at once ^
excess and defect in the matter of wealth.
Illiberality always means caring for wealth more
than is right; but prodigality sometimes stands for
a combination of vicea Thus incontinent people,
who squander their money in riotous living, are called
4 prodigals. And so prodigals are held to be very
worthless individuals, as they combine a number of
vices.
But we must remember that this is not the proper
5 use of the term ; for the term " prodigal " (aawrog) is
intended to denote a man who has one vice, viz. that
of wasting his substance : for he is aawroc,* or " pro-
digal," who is destroyed through his own fault, and
* iffwroSf a priy. and aQs, fftiCuy*
V
100 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
the wasting of one's substance is held to be a kind
of destruction of one's self, as one's life is dependent
upon it This, then, we regard as the proper sense
of the term " prodigality."
Anything that has a use may be used well or ilL 6
Now, riches is abundance of useful things (ra
But each thing is best used by him who has the
virtue that is concerned with that thing.
Therefore he will use riches best who has the
virtue that is concerned with wealth * (ra ^PW^to),
i.e, the liberal man.
\\ Now, the ways of using wealth are spending and 7
giving, while taking and keeping are rather the ways
of acquiring wealth. And so it is more distinctive of
the liberal man to give to the right people than to
take from the right source and not to take from the
.^ wrong source. For it is more distinctive of virtue to
do good to others than to have good done to you,
and to do what is noble than not to do what is base.
And here it is plain that doing good and noble 8
actions go with the giving, while receiving good and
not doing what is base goes with the taking.
Again, we are thankful to him who gives, not to
him who does not take; and so also we praise the
former rather than the latter.
Again, it is easier not to take than to give; for we 9
-^^^ are more inclined to be too stingy with our own
goods than to take another's.
♦ The connection is plainer in the original, because ra, xfyfifuma^
" wealth," is at once seen to be identical with rh xp'h^^y^ " useful
things, *' and connected with xp^ia, " use."
1, 6-16.] LIBERALITY 101
LO Again, it is those who give that are commonly
called liberal; while those who abstain from taking
are not praised for their liberality especially, but
.1 rather for their justice; and those who take are not
praised at alL
Again, of all virtuous characters the liberal man is
the most beloved, because he is useful ; but his use-
fulness lies in his giving.
2 But virtuous acts, we said, are noble, and are
done for the sake of that which is noble. The liberal
man, therefore, like the. others, will give with a view
to, or for the sake of, that which is noble, and give •
rightly ; i,e. he will give the right things to the right
persons at the right times — in short, his giving will
have aU the characteristics of right giving.
3 Moreover, his giving will be pleasant to him, or at l/"^
least painless; for virtuous acts are always pleasant
or painless— certainly very far from being painful
4 He who gives to the wrong persons, or gives from
some other motive than desire for that which is noble,
is not liberal, but must be called by some other name.
Nor is he liberal who gives with pain ; for that
shows that he would prefer * the money to the noble
action, which is not the feeling of the liberal man.
5 The liberal man, again, will not take from wrong
sources; for such taking is inconsistent with the
character of a man who sets no store by wealth.
6 Nor will he be ready to beg a favour ; for he who
confers benefits on others is not usually in a hurry to
receive them.
* Were it not for some extraneous consideration, e.g. desire to
stand weU with his neighbours.
102 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. IV.
But from right sources he will take (e.g. from his 17
own property), not as if there were anything noble in
taking, but simply as a necessary condition of giving.
And so he will not neglect his property, since he
wishes by means of it to help others. But he will
refuse to give to any casual person, in order that he
may have wherewithal to give to the right persons, at
the right times, and where it is noble to give.
It is very characteristic of the liberal man ♦ to 18
go even to excess in giving, so as to leave too little
for himself; for disregard of self is part of his
character.
In applying the term liberality we must take 19
account of a mail's fortune; for it is.not the amount
of what is given that makes a gift liberaj, but the
liberal habit or character of the doer; and this
character proportions the gift to the fortune of the
giver^>^And so it is quite possible that the giver of
the smaller sum may be the more liberal man, if his
means be smaller.
Those who have inherited a fortune seem to be 20
more liberal than those who have made one ; for they
have never known want ; and all men are particularly
fond of what themselves have made> as we see in
parents and poets.
It is not easy for a liberal man to be rich, as he is
not apt to take or to keep, but is apt to spend, and
cares for money not on its own account, but only for
the sake of giving it away.
* This is strictly a departare from the virtue ; but Aristotle
seems often to pass insensibly from the abstract ideal of a virtue to
its imperfect embodiment in a complex character. Cf. infra, cap. 3*
I, 17-36.3 LIBEBALITY. 103
21 Hence the charge often brought against fortune,
that those who most deserve wealth arc least blessed
with it. But this is natural enough; for it is just as
impossible to have wealth without taking trouble
about it, as it is to have anything else.
22 Nevertheless the liberal man will not give to the
■wrong people, nor at the wrong times ; for if ho did,
he would no longer be displaying true hberality,
and, after spending thus, would not have enough to ^
23 spend on the right occasions. For, as we have already k
said, he is liberal who spends in proportion to his
fortune, on proper objects, while he who exceeds this
is prodigal. And so princes * are not called prodigal,
because it does not seem easy for them to exceed the
measure of their possessions in gifts and expenses.
2i Liberality, then, being moderation in the giving
and taking of wealth, the liberal man will give and
spend the proper amount on the proper objects, alike
in small things and in great, and that with pleasure;
and will also take the proper amount from the proper
sources. For since the vktue is moderation in both
giving and taking, the man who has the virtue will
do both rightly. Right taking is consistent with
right giving, but any other taking is contrary to it.
Those givings and takings, then, that are consistent
with one another are found in the same person, while
those that are contrary to one another manifestly
are not.
15 But if a liberal man happen to spend anything in
* No Eingle English word can ccnvej tlis asBoaiatiaiis of tLe
Greeb tifwvm, a monarch who has seixed Bbsaluta power, aob
jwcesaarll; one who abases it.
Il
J
104 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. It.
a manner contrary to what is right and noble, he will
be pained, but moderately and in due measure ; for
it is a characteristie of virtue to be pleased and pained
on the right occasions and in due measure.
The liberal man, again, is easy to deal with in 26
money matters; it is not hard to cheat him, as he
does not value wealth, and is more apt to be vexed
at having failed to spend where he ought, than to be
pained at having spent where he ought not — ^th^ sort 2fi
of man that Simonides would not commend.*
The prodigal, on the other hand, errs in these 2i
points also ; he is not pleased on the right occasions
nor in the right way, nor pained : but this wilL be
clearer as we go on.
We have already said that both prodigality and as
illiberality are at once excess and deficiency, in two
things, viz. giving and taking (expenditure being
included in giving). Prodigality exceeds in giving
and in not taking, but falls short in taking; illiber-
ality falls short in giving, but exceeds in taking — in
small things, we must add
Now, the two elements of prodigality- are not 30
commonly united in the same person : f it is not
easy for a man who never takes to be always giving ;
for private persons soon exhaust their means of
giving, and it is to private persons that the name is
generally applied.}
A prodigal of this kind [ie. in whom both the 31
* The sa/ing referred to seems to be lost.
f i,e, in men of some age and fixed oharacter ; they often coexist
in very joung men, he says, but cannot possibly coexist for long.
{ As he has already said in effect, sujpra, § 23«
1, 20-36] LIBEBALITY. 105
elements are combined], we must observe, would seem
to be not a little better than an illiberal man. For
he is easily cured by advancing years and by lack of
means, and may come to the middle course. For he
has the essential points of the liberal character; he
gives and abstains from taking, though he does neither
well nor as he ought. If then he can be trained to
this, or if in any other way this change in his nature
can be effected, he will be liberal ; for then he will
give to whom he ought, and will not take whence he
ought not. And so he is generally thought to be not
a bad character ; for to go too far in giving and in f /'
not taking does not show a vicious or ignoble nature
so much as a foolish one.
A prodigal of this sort, then, seems to be much
better than an illiberal man, both for the reasons
already given, and also because the former does good
to many, but the latter to no one, not even to himsel£
But most prodigals, as has been said, not only give
wrongly, but take from wrong sources, and are in this
respect illiberal They become grasping because they
.wish to sp^nd, but cannot readily do so, as their
supplies soon fail. So they are compelled to draw
from other sources. At the same time, since they care
nothing for what is noble, they will take quite reck-
lessly from any source whatever; for they long to
give, but care not a whit how the money goes or
whence it comes.
And so their gifts are not liberal ; for they are not
noble, nor are they give6 with a view to that which
is noble, nor in the right manner. Sometimes they
enrich those who ought to be poor, and will give
106 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
nothing to men of well-regulated character, while
they give a great deal to those who flatter them, or .
furnish them with any other pleasure. And thus the v
greater part of them are profligates ; for, being ready
to part with their money, they are apt to lavish^ it on
riotous living, and as they do not shape their lives
with a view to that which is noble, they easily fall
away into the pursuit of pleasure.
The prodigal, then, if he fail to find guidance, 36
comes to this, but if he get training he may be brought
to the moderate and right course.
\ ' But illiberality is incurable ; for old age and all 37
loss of power seems to make men illiberal
It also runs in the blood more than prodigality;
the generality of men are more apt to be fond of
money than of giving.
Again, it is far-reaching, and has many forms ; for 38
there seem to be many ways in which one can be
illiberal.
It consists of two parts — deficiency in giving, and
excess of taking; but it is not always found in its
entirety; sometimes the parts are separated, and
one man exceeds in taking, while another falls short
in giving. Those, for instance, who are called by such 81
names as niggardly, stingy, miserly, all fall short
in giving, but do not covet other people's goods, or
wish to take them.
Some are impelled to this conduct by a kind of
honesty, or desire to avoid what is disgraceful — I
mean that some of them seem, or at any rate profess,
to be saving, in order that they may never be com-
pelled to do anything disgraceful; e.g. the cheese-
A^
1, 36-43.] LIBEBALITY. 107
parer * (and those like him), who is so named because
of the extreme lengths to which he carries his un-
willingness to give.
But others are moved to keep their hands from
their neighbours' goods only by fear, believing it to
be no easy thing to take the goods of others, without
having one's own goods taken in turn ; so they are
content with neither taking nor giving.
Others, again, exceed in the matter of taking so far
as to make any gain they can in any way whatever,
e.g. those who ply debasing trades, brothel-keepers
and such like, and usurers who lend out small sums
at a high rate. For all these make money from im-
proper sources to an improper extent.
The common characteristic of these last seems to
be the pursuit of base gain ; for all of them endure
reproach for the sake of gain, and that a small gain.
For those who make improper gains in improper ways
on a large scale are not called illiberal, e.g, tyrants who
sack cities and pillage temples ; they are rather called
wicked, impious, unjust. The dice-sharper, however,
and the man who steals clothes at the bath, or the
common thief, are reckoned among the illiberal ; for
they all make base gains ; i.e. both the thief and the
sharper ply their trade and endure reproach for gain,
and the thief for the sake of his booty endui'es the
greatest dangers, while the sharper makes gain out of
his friends, to whom he ought to give. Both then,
•wishing to make gain in improper ways, are seekers
of base gain ; and all such ways of making money are
illiberal
• Lit. " oummin-Bplitter,**
nificence.
108 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk IV.
^ ^^ Thus Uliberality is rightly called the opposite of
liberalityXfor it is a worse evil than prodigality, and
men are more apt to err in this way than in that
which we have described as prodigality.
Let this, then, be taken as our account of liberality, i
and of the vices that are opposed to it.
ofma0r^<r 2. Our next ta^k would seem to be an examina- 1
tion of magnificence. For this also seems to be a
virtue that is concerned with wealth.
But it does not, like liberality, extend over the
whole field of money transactions, but only over those
that involve large expenditiire ; and in these it goes
beyond liberality in largeness. For, as its very name
(juLeyaXoTrpiTTBia) suggests, it is suitable expenditure on
a large scale. But the largeness is relative : the 2
expenditure that is suitable for a man who is fitting
out a war-ship is not the same as that which is suit-
able for the chief of a sacred embassy.
What is suitable, then, is relative to the person, 3
and the occasion, and the business on hand. Yet he
who spends what is fitting on trifling or moderately
important occasions is not called magnificent; e.g,
the man who can say, in the words of the poet—
" To many a wandering beggar did I give ; "
but he who spends what is fitting on great occa^ons.
For the magnificent man is liberal, but a man may be
liberal without being magnificent.
<i The deficiency of this quality is called meanness ; i
the excess of it is called vulgarity, bad taste, etc. ;
the characteristic of which is not spending too much
on proper objects, but spending ostentatiously on im-
\
1, 44r-2, 10.] MAGNIFIOBNOB. 109
proper objects and in improper fashion. But we will
speak of them presently.
But the magnificent man is like a skilled artist ;
he can see what a case requires, and can spend great
sums tastefully. For, as we said at the outset, a
habit or type of character takes its complexion
from the acts in which it issues and the things it
produces.
The magnificent man's expenses, therefore, must be
great and suitable.
What he produces then will also be of the same
nature; for only thus will the expense be at once
great and suitable to the result.
The result, then, must be proportionate to the ex-
penditure, and the expenditure proportionate to the
result, or even greater.
Moreover, the magnificent man's motive in thus
spending his money will be desire for that which is
noble ; for this is the common characteristic of all the
virtues.
Further, he will spend gladly and lavishly ; for a
minute calculation of cost is mean. He will inquire
how the work can be made most beautiful and most
elegant, rather than what its cost will be, and how
it can be done most cheaply.
So the magnificent man must .be liberal also ; for
the liberal man, too, will spend the right amount in
the right manner; only, both the amount and the
manner being right, magnificence is distinguished from
liberality (which has the same sphere of action) by
greatness — I mean by actual magnitude of amount
spent : and secondly, where the amount spent is the
110 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
same, the result of the magnificent man's expenditure
will be more magnificent*
For the excellence of a possession is not the same
as the excellence of a product or work of art: as a
possession, that is most precious or estimable which is
worth most, e.g. gold ; as a work of art, that is most
estimable which is great and beautiful : for the sight
of such a work excites admiration, and a magnificent
thing is always admirable ; indeed, excellence of work
on a great scale is magnificence.
Now, there is a kind of expenditure which is U
called in a special sense estimable or honourable, such
as expenditure on the worship of the gods {e.g.
offerings, temples, and sacrifices), and likewise all ex-
penditure on the worship of heroes, ahd again all
public service which is prompted by a noble ambi-
tion ; e.g. a man may think proper to furnish a chorus
or a war-ship, or to give a public feast, in a hand-
some style.
But in all cases, as we have said, we must have 12
regard to the person who spends, and ask who, he is,
and what his means are; for expenditure should be
proportionate to means, and be suitable not only to
the result but to the persons who spend.
And so a poor man cannot be magnificent : he 18
has not the means to spend large sums suitably : if he
tries, he is a fool ; for he spends disproportionately and
in a wrong way; but an act must be done in the
• A worthy expenditure of £100,000 would be magnificent from
its mere amonnt; bnt even £100 may be spent in a magnificent
manner (bj a man who can afford it), e.g. in buying a rare engraying
to£ a public collection : cf. § 18.
2, 11-17.] MAGNIFIOBNCB. Ill
4 right way to be virtuous. But magnificence is becom-
ing in those who have got the requisite means, either
by their own efforts or through their ancestors or
their connections, and who have birth and reputation,
etc. ; for all these things give a man a certain great-
ness and importance.
.5 The magnificent man, then, is properly a man of
this sort^ and magnificence exhibits itself most
properly in expenditure of this kind, as we have
said; for this is the greatest and most honourable
kind of expenditure : but it may also be displayed
on private occasions, when they are such as occur but
once in a man's life, e.g. a wedding or anything of
that kind; or when they are of special interest to
the state or the governing classes, e.g. receiving
strangers and sending them on their way, or making
presents to them and returning their p;esents; fof
the magnificent man does not lavish money on himself,
but on public objects ; and gifts to strangers bear some
resemblance to offerings to the gods.
16 Again, a magnificent man will build his house in
a style suitable to his wealth ; for even a fine house
is a kind of public ornament. And he will spend
money more readily on things that last ; for these are
the noblest.
17 And on each occasion he will provide what is suit-
able—which is not the same for gods as for men, for
a temple as for a tomb — ^and in his expenditure every
detail will be great after its kind, great expenditure
on a great occasion being the most magnificent, and
then in a less degree that which is great for the
occasion^ whatever it be.
112 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
Again, the greatness of the result is not the same 18
as the greatness of the expense ; e.gr. the most beauti-
ful ball or the most beautiful bottle that can be got
is a magnificent present for a child, though its price
is something small and mean.
And so it is characteristic of the magnificent man 19
to do magnificently that which he does, of whatever
kind it be ; for such work cannot easily be surpassed,
and the result is proportionate to the expense.
This, then, is the character of the magnificent man. 2C
The man who exceeds (whom we call vulgar) ex-
. ceeds, as we said, in spending improperly. He spends
great sums on little objects, and makes an unseemly
display ; e,g, if he is entertaining the members of his
club, he will give them a wedding feast ; if he provides
the chorus for a comedy, he will bring his company
on the stage all dressed in purple, as they do at
Megara. And all this he will do from no desire for
what is noble or beautiful, but merely to display his
wealth, because he hopes thereby to gain admiration,
spending little where he should spond much, and much
where he should spend little.
But the mean man will fall short on every occa- 21
sion, and, even when he spends very large sums, will
spoil the beauty of his work by niggardliness in a
trifle, never doing anything without thinking twice
about it, and considering how it can be done at the
least possible cost, and bemoaning even that, and think-
ing he is doing everything on a needlessly large scale.
Both these characters, then, aj-e vicious, but they
do not bring reproach, because they are neither
injurious to others nor very offensive in themselves.
2, 18-3, 9.] EIGH-MINDEDNESS. 113
3. High-mindednesa would seem from its very of high-
m^uitedn
name (fjieya\o\pvx(a) to have to do with great things ;
let us first ascertain what these are.
3 It wlQ make no difierence whether we consider
the quality itself, or the man who exhibits the quality. []/
8 By a high-minded man we seem to mean "one who ]
claims much and deserves much : for he who claims
much without deserving it is a fool ; but the possessor
4 of a virtue is never foolish or silly. The man we
have described, then, is high-minded.
He who deserves little and claims little is tem-
5 perate [or modest], but not high-minded: for high-
mindedness [or greatness of soul] implies great-
ness, just as beauty implies stature ; small men may
be neat and well proportioned, but cannot be called
beautiful
6 He who claims much without deserving it is l/*
vain (though not every one who claims more than
he deserves is vain),
7 He who claims less than he deserves Is little- i' '
minded, whether his deserts be great or moderate, or
whether they be small and he claims still less : but
this little-mindedness is most conspicuous in him
whose deserts are great ; for what would he do if his
deserts were less than they are ?
8 The high-minded man, then, in respect of the
greatness of his deserts occupies an extreme position,
but in that he behaves as he ought, observes the
xnean ; for he claims that which he deserves, while all
the others claim too much or too little.
9 But now if he deserves much and claims much,
and most of all deserves and claims the greatest
I
114 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS O* ARISTOTLE. CBk. IV.
things, there mil be one thing with which he wiU be
espeeially concemeA For desert has reference to 10
external good things. Now, the greatest of external
good things we may assume to be that which we
render to the Oods as their due, and that which
people in high stations most desire, and which is the
prize appointed for the noblest deeda But the thing
that answers to this description is honour, which,
we may safely say, is the greatest of all external
goods. Honours ii,nd dishonours, therefore, are the
field in which the high-minded man behaves as he
ought.
'», ) And indeed we may see, without going about to ii
prove it, that honour is what high-minded men are
concerned with; for it is honour that great men claim
and deserve.
The little-minded man faUs short, whether we
compare his claims with his own deserts or with what •
the high-minded man claims for himself.
The vain or conceited man exceeds what is due to 13
himself, though he does not exceed the high-minded
man in his claims.*
But the high-minded man, as he deserves the 14
greatest things, must be a perfectly good or excellent
man ; for the better man always deserves the greater
things, and the best possible man the greatest possible '
things. The really high-minded man, therefore, must
be a good or excellent man. And indeed greatness
in every virtue or excellence would seem to be
necessarily implied in being a high-minded or great-
Bouled man.
* For that is impossible.
r
3, 1(^-18.] HIGH-MINDEDNESa 115
It would be equally inconsistent with the high-
minded man's character to run along swinging his
arms, and to commit an act of injustice ; for what thing
is there for love of which he would do anything
unseemly, seeing that all things are of little account
to him?
Survey him point by point and you will find that
the notion of a high-minded man that is not a good or
excellent man is utterly absurd. Indeed, if he were
not good, he could not be worthy of honour; for
honour is the prize of virtue, and is rendered to the
good as their due. y
High-mindedness, then, seems to be the crowning V
grace, as it were, of the virtues ; it makes them greater,
and cannot exist without them. And on this account
it is a hard thing to be truly high-minded ; for it is
impossible without the union of all the virtues.
. The high-minded man, then, exhibits his character
especially in the matter of honours and dishonours
and at great hoDour from good men he will be
moderately pleased, as getting nothing more than his
due, or even less ; for no honour can be adequate to
complete virtue ; but nevertheless he will accept it, as
they have nothing greater to otfer him. But honour
from ordinary men and on trivial grounds he will
utterly despise ; for that is not what he deserves.
And dishonour likewise he will make light of; for he
will never merit it.
But though it is especially in the matter of
honours, as we have said, that the high-minded man
displays his character, yet he will also observe the
mean in his feelings with regard to wealth and power
116 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. DBk. IV.
V and all kinds of good and evil fortune, whatever may
befall him, and will neither be very much exalted
by prosperity, nor very much cast down by adversity;
seeing that not even honour affects him as if it were
a very important thing. For power and wealth are
desirable for honour's sake (at least, those who have
them wish to gain honour by them). He then who
thinks lightly of honour must think lightly of them
/ also.
N^ And so high-minded men seem to look down upon
everything.
But the gifts of fortune also are commonly thought
to contribute to high-mindednesa For those who are 19
well born are thought worthy of honour, and those
who are powerful or wealthy; for they are in a posi-
tion of superiority, and that which is superior in any
good thing is always held in greater honour. And so
these things do make people more high-minded in a
sense ; for such people find honour from some. But 20
in strictness it is only the good man that is worthy of
honour, though he that has both goodness and good
fortune is commonly thought to be more worthy of
honour. Those, however, who have these good things
without virtue, neither have any just claim to great
things, nor are properly to be called high-minded;
for neither is possible without complete virtue.
\ But those who have these good things readily 21
come to be supercilious and insolent. For without
virtue it is not easy to bear the gifts of fortune
becomingly ; and so, being unable to bear them, and
thinking themselves superior to everybody else, such
people look down upon others, and yet themselves do
3, 19-26.] HIGH-MINDEDNESS. 1 1 7
whatever happens to please them. They imitate the
high-minded man without being really like him, and
they imitate him where they can ; that is to say, they
do not exhibit virtue in their acts, but they look down
52 upon others. Only the high-minded man never looks
down upon others without justice (for he estimates
them correctly), while most men do so for quite
irrelevant reasons.
J3 The high-minded man is not quick to run into
petty dangers, and indeed does not love danger, since
there are few things that he much Values ; but he is
ready to incur a great danger, and whenever he does
so is unsparing of his life, as a thing that is not worth
keeping at all costs. /
M It is his nature to confer benefits, but he is'^
ashamed to receive them ; for the former is the part
of a superior, the latter of an inferior. And when
he has received a benefit, he is apt to confer a greater
in return; for thus his creditor will become his
debtor and be in the position of a recipient of his
favour.
25 It is thought, moreover, that such men remember
those on whom they have conferred favours better
than those from whom they have received them ; for
the recipient of a benefit is inferior to the benefactor,
but such a . man wishes to be in the position of a
superior. So he likes to be reminded of the one, but
dislikes to be reminded of the other ; and this is the
reason why we read * that Thetis would not mention
to Zeus the services she had done him, and why the
Lacedaemonians, in treating with the Athenians, re-
• Homer, U. i. 894 f ., 603 f.
nI
118 NIGOMAGHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IY^
minded them of the benefits received by Sparta rather
than of those conferred by her.
It is characteristic of the high-minded man, again, 2(
never or reluctantly to ask favours, but to be ready
to confer them, and to be lofty in his behaviour to
those who are high in station and favoured by fortune,
but affable to those of the middle ranks ; for it is a
difficult thing and a dignified thing to assert supe-
riority over the former, but easy to assert it over the
\i latterj A haughty demeanour in dealing with the
great is quite consistent with good breeding, but in
dealing with those of low estate is brutal, like show-
ing off one's strength upon a cripple.
Another of his characteristics is not to rush in 2'
wherever honour is to be won, nor to go where others
take the lead, but to hold aloof and to shun an enter-
prise, except when great honour is ix) be gained, or a
great work to be done — ^not to do many things, but
great things and notable.
^ Again, he must be open in his hate and in his 2(
love ; for coucealment shows fear.
He must care for truth more than for what men
will think of him, and speak and act openly ; he will
not hesitate to say all that he thinks, as he looks down
upon mankind. So he will speak the truth, except
when he speaks ironically; and irony he will employ
in speaking to the generality of men.
Another of his characteristics is that he cannot 2
fashion his life to suit another, except he be a friend;
for that is servile : and so all flatterers or hangers on
of great men are of a slavish nature, and men of low
natures become flatterera
3, 26-34.] HIGH-MraDEDNESS. 119
Nor is he easily moved to admiration; fornothing '^
ia great to him.
) He readily forgets injuries ; for it ia not consiBtent '
with his character to brood on the past, especially on
past injuries, but rather to overlook them. -
1 He ia no goasip; he will neither talk about him- '^
self nor about others; for he cares not that men
should praise him, nor that others should be blamed
(though, on the other hand, he is not very ready to
bestow praise) ; and so he is not apt to speak evil of
others, not even of hia enemies, except with the ex-
press purpose of giving offence.
2 When an event happens that cannot be helped or
ia of slight importance, he is the last man in the
world to cry out or to beg for help ; for that ia the
conduct of a man who thinks these events very
important.
^ He loves to possess beautiful things that bring no
profit, rather than useful things that pay; for this is
characteristic of the man whose resources are in
himself.
t Further, the character of the high-minded man ^^
seems to require that hia gait should be slow, his
voice deep, his speech measured; for a man is not ,(_
likely to he in a hurry when there are few things in '
which he is deeply interested, nor excited when he
holds nothing to be of very great importance: and
these are the causes of a high voice and rapid move-
menta
This, then, ia the character of the high-minded man.
But he that is deficient in this quality ia called
litt'Ie-minded ; he that exceeda, vain or conceited.
120 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AHlSTOTLE. [Bk.IV.
Now these two also do not seem to be bad — for lu
they do no harm — though they are in error.
\ For the little-minded man, though he deserves
good things, deprives himself of that which he
deserves, and so seems to be the worse for not claim-
ing these good things, and for misjudging himself;
for if he judged right he would desire what he
deserves, as it is good. I do not mean to say that
such people seem to be fools, but rather too re-
tiring. But a misjudgment of this kind does seem
actually to make them worse; for men strive for
that which they deserve, and shrink from noble deeds
and employments of which they think themselves
unworthy, as well as from mere external good things.
\ But vain men are fools as well as ignorant of 86
themselves, and make this plain to all the world ; for,
not doubting their worth, they undertake honourable
offices, and presently stand convicted of incapacity:
they dress in fine clothes and put on fine airs and so
on; they wish everybody to know of their good
fortune ; they talk about themselves, as if that were
the way to honour.
>j But little-mindedness is more opposed to high- 87
mindedness than vanity is ; for it is both commoner
and worse.
High-mindedness, then, as we have said^ has to do 8(
with honour on a large scale.
u^i^^^ 4. But it appears (as we said at the outset) that 1
^^ there is also a virtue concerned with honour, which
bears the same relation to high-mindedness that
liberality bears to magnificence ; i.e, both the virtue
in question and liberality have nothing to do with
3, 35-4, 5.] HIGH-MIKBEDNESS. Ht
great thiDgs, but cause us to behave properly in
2 matters of moderate or of trifling importance. Just
as in the taking and giving of money it is possible
to observe the mean, and also to exceed or fall short
of it, so it is possible in desire for honour to go too
far or not far enough, or, again, to desire honour from
the right source and in the'right manner.
3 A man is called ambitious or fond of honour
(0tAoT(jLcoc) in reproach, as desiring honoiu: more than
he ought, and from wrong sources; and a man is
called unambitious, or not fond of honour (a(j>i-
XoTifjLog) in reproach, as not desiring to be honoured
even for noble deeds.
But sometimes a man is called ambitious or fond
of honour in praise, as being manly and fond of
noble things; and sometimes a man is called un-
ambitious or not fond of honour in praise, as being
moderate and temperate (as we said at the outset).
i It is plain, then, that there are various senses
in which a man is said to be fond of a thing, and
that the term fond of honpur has not always the
same sense, but that as a term of praise it means
fonder than most men, and as a term of reproach it
means fonder than is right. But, as there is no re-
cognized term for the observanqe of the mean, the ex-
tremes fight, so to speak, for what seems an empty place.
But wherever there is excess and defect there is also
a mean : and honour is in fact desired more than is
right, and less: therefore * it may also be desired to the
right degree ; at least, this character is praised as ob-
servance of the mean in the matter of honour, though it
• Beading Hffri 8^ with aU the best MSS.
ess.
V
122 KICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLK [Bk. IV.
has no recognized name. Compared with ambition,
it seems to be lack of ambition ; compared with lack
of ambition, it seems to be ambition; compared with
both at once^ it seems in a wa; to be both at once.
This, we may observe, also happens in the case of 6
the other virtues. But in this case the extreme
characters seem to be opposed to one another [instead
of to the moderate character], because the character
that observes the mean has no recognized name.
^genoe^ 6. Gcntlcness is a kind of moderation with respect l
to anger; but there is no recognized name for him
who strictly observes the mean, and scarcely any
recognized names for those who go into extremes;
and so, though the term gentleness properly denotes
an inclination towards deficiency in anger (for which
also there is no proper name), we sometimes apply it
to the man who observes the mean.*
The excess may be called wrathfulness ; for the 2
emotion concerned is wrath or anger, though the
things that cause it are many and various.
He then who is angry on the right occasions and 3
with the right persons, and also in the right manner,
and at the right season, and for the right length of
time, is praised ; we will call him gentle, therefore,
since gentleness is used as a term of praise. For the
• This seems the only way of constraing the passage as it
stands, for the context itself shows that he cannot mean ** there is a
name for the quality thongh none for the man," not to mention
that II. 7, 10 says distinctly " there is no recognized name for the
quality." But it is possible that irpa^ris 8* has crept in, and that
the passage should begin *E<rTl /li^y, etc.; then it runs smoothly
enough : ** there is a moderation in anger : we will call it vpaoniSf
though this term properly denotes an inclination to deficiency."
4, 6-5, 8.] GENTLENESS. 123
man who is called gentle wishes not to lose his
balance, and not to be carried away by his emotions
or passions, but to be angry only in such manner,
and on such occasions, and for such period as reason
4 shall prescribe. But he seems to err rather on the
side of deficiency ; he is loth to take vengeance and
very ready to forgive. "^ ,
5 But the deficiency — call it wrathlessness or
what you will — ^is censured. Those who are not
angered by what ought to anger them seem to be
foolish, and so do those who are not angry as and
6 when and with whom they ought to be ; for such a
man seems to feel nothing and to be pained by
nothing, and, as he is never angered, to lack spirit to
defend himself. But to suffer one's self to be insulted, X/
or to look quietly on while one's friends are being
insulted, shows a slavish nature.
7 It is possible to exceed in all points, {.e. to be
angry with persons with whom one ought not, and
at things at which qAe ought not to be angry, and
more than one ought, and more quickly, and for a
longer time. All these errors, however, are not found
in the same person. That would be impossible; for
evil is self-destructive, and, if it appears in its entirety,
becomes quite unbearable.
8 So we find that wrathful men get angry very
soon, and with people with whom and at things
at which they ought not, and more than they ought;
but they soon get over their anger, and that is a very
good point in their character. And the reason is that
they do not keep in their anger, but, through the
quickness of their temper, at once retaliate, and so let
^^l
124 NIOOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IV. '
what is in them come to light, and then have done
with it.
But those who are called choleric are excessively 9
quick-tempered, and apt to be angered at anything
and on any occasion ; whence the name (aKpoxoXoi).
Sulky men are hard to appease and their anger ifl
lasts long, because they keep it in. For so soon as
we retaliate we are relieved : vengeance makes us
cease from our anger, substituting a pleasant for a
painful state. But the sulky man, as he does not thus
relieve himself, bears the burden of his wrath about
with him ; for no one even tries to reason him out of
it, as he does not show it, and it takes a long time
to digest one's anger within one's self. Such men
are exceedingly troublesome to themselves and their
dearest friends.
Lastly, hard (xoXcttoc) is the name we give to 11
those who are offended by things that ought not to
offend them, and more than they ought, and for a
longer time, and who will not be appeased without
vengeance or punishment.
Of the two extremes the excess is the more opposed 12
to gentleness ; for it is commoner (as men are naturally
more inclined to veiigeance)7 and a hard-tempered
person is worse to live with [than one who is too
easy-tempered].
What we said some time ago * is made abundantly 13
manifest by what we have just been saying; it is not
easy to define how, and with whom, and at what, and
for how long one ought to be angry — how far it is
right to go, and at what point misconduct begins.
• n. 9, 7.
6, 9-6, 3J AGBEEABLENESS. 125
He who errs slightly from the right course is not
blamed, whether it be on the side of excess or of ,
deficiency; for sometimes we praise those who fall
short and call them gentle, and sometimes those who
behave hardly are called manly,- as being able to rule.
But what amount and kind of error makes a man
blamable can scarcely be defined; for it depends
upon the pai^ticular circumstances of each case, and
can only be decided by immediate perception.
L4 But so much at least is manifest, that on the one
hand the habit which observes the mean is to be
praised, i.e. the habit which causes us to be angry
with the right persons, at the right things, in the right
manner, etc. ; and that, on the otfier hand, all habits
of excess or deficiency deserve censure — slight censure
if the error be trifling, graver censure if it be con-
siderable, and severe censure if it be great.
1 6. It is evident, therefore, that we must strive for
the habit which observes the mean.
This then may be taken as our account of the
habits which have to do with anger.
In the matter of social intercourse, i.e. the living or offree^
with others and joining with them in conversation
, and in common occupations, some men show them- r
selves what is called obsequious — those who to
please you praise everything, and never object to
anything, but think they ought always to avoid
2 giving pain to those whom they meet. Those who
take the opposite line, and object to everything and '., >.
never think for a moment what pain they may give,
are called cross and contentious.
3 It is sufficiently plain that both these habits
\y-'
126 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. CBk. IV
merit censure, and ihat the habit which takes the
middle course between them is to be commended —
the habit which makes a man acquiesce in what ho
ought and in the right manner, and likewise refuse
to acquiesce. This habit or type of character has no i
recognized name, but seems most nearly to resemble
friendliness (<fn\la). For the man who exhibits this
moderation is the same sort of man that we mean
when we speak of an upright fi:iend, except that
then affection also is implied. This differs firom i
friendliness in that it does not imply emotion and
affection for those with whom we associate; for he
who has this quality acquiesces when he ought, not
because he loves or hates, but because that is his
character. He will behave thus alike to those whom
he knows and to those whom he does not know, to
strangers and to acquaintances, to those with whom
he is intimate and to those with whom he is not,
only that in each case he will behave as is fitting;
for we are not bound to show the same consideration
to strangers as to intimates, nor to take the same
care not to pain them.
We have already said in general terms that such 6
a man will behave as he ought in his intercourse
with others, but we must add that, while he tries to
contribute to the pleasure of others and to avoid
giving them pain, he will always be guided by refer-
ence to that which is noble and fitting. It seems to 1
be with the pleasures and pains of social intercourse
that he is concerned. Now, whenever he finds that
it is not noble, or is positively hurtful to himself, to
contribute to any of these pleasures^ he will refuse to
8, 4-7, L] TBUTHPULNESfl. 127
acquiesce and will prefer to give^pain. And if the
pleasure is such as to involve discredit^ and no slight
discredit, or some injury to him who is the source
of it, while his opposition will give a little pain,
he will not acquiesce, but will set his face against
8 it. But he will behave differently according as he is
in the company of greatj)eople or ordinary^ jieople,
of intimate friends or mere acquaintances, and so on,
rendering to each his due; preferring, apart from
other considerations, to promote pleasure, and loth to
give pain, but regulating his conduct by consideration
of the consequences, if they be considerable — by con-
9 sideration, I mean, of what is noble and fitting. And
thus for the sake of great pleasure in the future he
will inflict a slight pain now.
The man who observes the mean, then, is some-
thing of this sort, but has no recognized name. '
The man who always makes himself pleasant, if '
he aims simply at pleasing and has no ulterior object
in view, is called ob sequi ous ; but if he does so in
order to get some profit for himself, either in the way ^ ^ ^
of money or of money's worth, he is a flatterer.
But he who sets his face against everything is, as
we have already said, cross and contentious.
But the extremes seem here to be opposed to one
another [instead of to the mean], because there is no
name for the mean.
I 7. The moderation which avoids boastfulness oftruth^
(which 'virtue also lacks a name) seems to display *
itself in almost the same field.
It will be as well to examine these qualities also ;
for we shall know more about human character, when
1 28 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
we have gone through each of its forms ; and we shall
be more fully assured that the virtues are modes of
observing the mean, when we have surveyed them all
and found that this is the case with every one of
them.
We have already spoken of the characters that
are displayed in social intercourse in the matter of
-^ pleasure and pain; let us now go on to speak in like
:^--^''" manner of those who show themselves truthful or
untruthful in what they say and do, and in the
pretensions they put forward. ^^^
^ First of all, then, the boaster seems to be fond of 2
pretending to things that men esteem, though he has
them not, or not to such extent as he pretends ; the 3
ironical man, on the other hand, seems to disclaim
..- y what he has, or to depreciate it; while he who ob- 4
serves the mean, being a man who is "always himself'*
{avQiKCLGTOQ tlq), is truthful in word and deed, con- 5
fessing the simple facts about himself, and neither
exaggerating nor diminishing them.
Now, each of these lines of conduct may be pur- 6
sued either with an ulterior object or without one.
When he has no ulterior object in view, each man
speaks and acts and lives according to his character.
But falsehood in itself is vile and blamable;
truth is noble and praiseworthy in itself.
jSid so the truthful man, as observing the mean,
is praiseworthy, while the untruthful characters are 7
both blamable, but the boastful more than the ironical.
J Let us speak then of each of them, and first of the
truthful character.
We must remember that we are not s^eakin^ of
4
(
7, a-12.] TRUTHFULNESS. 129
the mail who tells the truth in matters of business, or
in matters which come within the sphere of injustice
and justice (for these matters would belong to another
8 virtue) ; the man we are considering is the man who
in cases where no such important issues, are involved
is truthful in his speech and in his life, because that
is his character.
Such a man would seem to be a good man
fliricMc^c). For he who loves truth, and is truthful
where nothing depends upon it, will still more surely
tell the truth where serious interests are involved;
he will shim falsehood as a base thing here, seeing
that he shunned it elsewhere, apart from any con-
9 sequences : but such a man merits praise.
He inclines rather towards under-statement than
LO overrstatement of the truth; and this seems to be i
'The more suitable course,'^since all exaggeration is I
offensive.
On the other hand, he who pretends to more than
he has with no ulterior object [the boaster proper]
seems not to be a good character (for if he were he
11 would not take pleasure in falsehood), but to be silly
rather than bad.
But of boasters who have an ulterior object, he
whose object is reputation or honour is not very
severely censured (ju^t as the boaster proper is not),
12 but he whose object is money, or means of making
money, is held in greater reproach.
For we must obsei've that what distinguishes the
boaster proper from the other kinds of boasters, is no^j
the faculty of boasting, but the purpose of his boast-
ing: the boast^ proper is a boaster by habit, and
130 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
because that is his character ; just as there is on the
one hand the l iarjpr oper, who delights in falsehood
itself, and on the other hand the liar who lies through
desire of honour or gain.
Those who boast with a view to reputation pre- 13
tend to those things for which a man is commended
or is thought happy ; those whose motive is gain pre-
tend to those things which are of advantage to others,
and whose absence may escape detection, e.g, to skill .
in magic or in medicine. And so it is usually some-
thing of this sort that men pretend to and boast of;
for the conditions specified are realized in them.
\ ^ , / Ironical people, on the other hand, with their 14
^.-'-^depreciatory way of speaking of themselves, seem to
be of a more refined character; for their motive in
speaking thus seems to be not love of gain, but desire
to avoid parade : but what they disclaim seems also *
to be especially that which men esteem — of which
Socrates was an instance.
(Those who [do not disclaim creditable qualities is
which they have, but] pretend to contemptible quali-
/ ^ i ties which they plainly have not, are called sham
scoundrels {fiavK^yiravovfyyoi), and may well be held in
contempt.)
And sometimes this self-depreciation is scarcely .
^ distinguishable from boasting, as for instance dressing "
I like a Spartan ; for there is something boastful in
^s^extreme depreciation as well as in exaggeration.
- .. But those who employ irony in moderation, and Ifi
speak ironically in matters that are not too obvious
and palpable, appear to be men of refinement.
• The things that the boaster pretends to are also the things
that the ironical man disclaims.
7, 13-8, 4.] WITTINESS. 131 ^.
\ .-'
17 Finally, the boaster seems to be especially the "^
opposite of the truthful man; for he is worse than
the ironical man.
1 8. Again, since relaxation is an element in our of^miMk
life, and one mode of relaxation is amusing conver-
sation, it seems that in this respect also there is a
proper way of mixing with others ; i,e, that there are
things that it is right to say, and a right way of say-
ing them : and the same with hearing ; though here
also it will make a difference what kind of people
they are in whose presence you are speaking, or to
whom you are listening.
2 And it is plain that it is possible in these matters
also to go beyond,- or to fall short of, the mean. y^
3 Now, those who go to excess in ridicule seem to r
be buffoons and vulgar fellows, striving at all costs for
a ridiculous effect, and bent rather on raising a laugh
than on making their witticisms elegant and inoffen-
sive to the subject of them. While those who will
never say anything laughable themselves, and frown
on those who do, are considered boorish and morose, i
But those who jest gracefully are called witty, or
men of ready wit (cirpaTrcXoi), as it were ready or
versatile men.
For* a man's character seems to reveal itself in
these sallies or playful movements, and so we judge of
his moral constitution by them, as we judge of his
body by its movements.
4 But through the prominence given to ridiculous
things, and the excessive delight which most people
* What follows explains why all these terms have a specific
moral meaning.
132 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
take in amusement and jesting, the buifoon is often
called witty because he gives delight. But that there
is a difference, and a considerable difference, between
the two is plain from what we have said.
An element in the character that observes the 5
mean in these matters is tact. A man of tact will
only say and listen to such things as it befits an
honest man and a gentleman to say and listen to;
for there are things that it is quite becoming for such
a man to say and to listen to in the way of jest, and
the jesting of a gentleman differs from that of a man
of slavish nature, and the jesting of an educated from
that of an uneducated man.
\ J This one may see by the difference between the old 6
comedy and the new : the fun of the earlier writers
is obscenity, of the later innuendo ; and there is no
slight difference between the two as regards decency.
Can good jesting, then, be defined as making 7
jests that befit a gentleman, or that do not pain the
hearer, or even that give him pleasure ? Nay, I
think this also is a thing that cannot be defined:
different things are hateful and pleasant to different
people.
But the things that he will listen to will be of the 8
same sort [as those that he wiU say, whatever that
be] : jests that a man can listen to he can, we think,
make himself
So then there are jests that he will not make 9
[though we cannot exactly define them] ; for to
make a jest of a man is to vilify him in a way, and
the law forbids certain kinds of vilification, and ought
perhaps also to forbid certain kinds of jesting.
8, 5-9, 2 J SHAME. 133
The refined and gentlemanly man, therefore, will
thus regulate his wit, being as it were a law to
himself.
10 This then is the character of him who observes
the mean, whether we call him a man of tact or a
man of ready wit.
The bufibon, on the other hand, cannot resist an
opportunity for a joke, and, if he can but raise a laugh,
will spare neither himself nor others, and wiU say
things which no man of refinement would say, and
some of which he would not even listen to.
The boor, lastly, is wholly useless for this kind of
intercourse ; he contributes nothing, and takes every- "^
11 thing in ill part. And yet recreation and amusement Ir
seem to be necessary ingredients in our life.
12 In conclusion, then, the modes just described of
observing the mean in social life are three in number,*
and all have to do with conversation or joint action
of some kind : but they differ in that one has to do
with truth, while the other two are concerned witli
what is pleasant; and of the two that are concerned
with pleasure, one finds its field in our amusements>
the other in all other kinds of social intercourse.
1 9. Shame (alSwc) cannot properly be spoken of
as a virtue ; for it is more like a feeling or emotion "^^^m.
than a habit or trained faculty. At least, it is
2 defined as a kind of fear of disgrace, and its effects
are analogous to those of the fear that is excited by
danger ; for men blush when they are ashamed, while
the fear of death makes them pale. Both then seem
to be in a way physical, which is held to be a mark
* Friendliness, tmtbfulness, wit.
7
134 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. IV.
of a feeling or emotion, rather than of a habit or
trained faculty.
Again, it is a feeling which is not becoming at aU 3
times of life, but only in youth ; it is thought proper
for young people to be ready to feel shame, because,
as their conduct is guided by their emotions, they
often are misled, but are restrained from wrong
actions by sham6.
And so we praise young men when they are
ready to feel shame, but no one would praise a man
of more advanced years for being agt to be ashamed ;
for we consider that he ought not to do anything
which could make him ashamed of himself.
X And so a good man has no business with shame, 4
seeing that it is occasioned by base acts ; for such acts
should not be done at all.
It may be said that some acts are really disgrace- 5
ful, others disgraceful only in public estimation ; but
that makes no difference : neither ought to be done,
and so a man ought to have no occasion to be ashamed.
And to be the sort of a man that would do a dis- 6
graceful deed is to be other than a good man.
But supposing a man's character to be such that,
if he were to do one of these disgraceful acts, he
would be ashamed, it is absurd to fancy that he is a
good man on that account ; for shame is only felt at
voluntary acts, and a good man will never voluntarily
do vile acts.
At the utmost, shame would be hypothetically 7
good ; that is to say, supposing he were to do the act,
a good man would be ashamed : but there is nothing
hypothetical about the virtues.
9, 8-8.] 8HAMB. 135
Again, granting that it is bad to be shameless, or
not to be ashamed to do disgraceful things, it does not
therefore follow that it is good to do them and be
ashamed of it
8 Coiithwuce,* in the same way, is not a virtue, hMti/^
something between virtue and vice.
But we will explain this point about continence
later ; t 1©^ ^^ ^^ow treat of justice.
* The continent man desires the evil which he onght not to
desire, and so is not good ; but he does not do it, and so is not bad i
thus continence also might be called ** hypotheticallj good" ; granting
the eyU desire (which ezdades goodness proper), the best thing is
to master it.
t Book VIL
BOOK V.
THE SAME — concluded. JUSTICE.
prdimu 1, We uow have to inquire about justice and in- 1
nary
S^S" justice, and to ask what sort of acts they are concerned
^uhk. Qf^^^f ^^^ ^^ what sense justice observes the mean,
SSSjwto ^^^ what are the extremes whose mean is that which
^IdHM, is just. And in this inquiry we will follow the same 3
, method as before.
V We see that all men intend by justice to signify 3
the sort of habit or character that makes men apt to
do what is just, and which further makes them act
justly* and wish what is just; while by injustice
they intend in like manner to signify the sort of
character that makes men act unjustly and wish what
is unjust. Let us lay this down, then^ as an outline
to work upon.
We thus oppose justice and injustice, because a 4
habit or trained faculty differs in this respect both
from a science and a fietculty or power. I mean that
whereas both of a pair of opposites come under the
same science or power^ a habit which produces a
* A man may " do that which is just '' without " acting jostly : *
<^. siipraf II. 4, 8> and infra, oap. 8.
1, 1-8.] JUSTICE. 137
certain result does not also produce the opposite
result; e.g, health produces healthy manifestations
only, and not unhealthy; for we say a man has a
healthy gait when he walks like a man in health.
6 [Not that the two opposites are unconnected] In
the first place, a habit is often known by the opposite
habit, and often by its causes and results: if we
know what good condition is, we can learn from
that what bad condition is; and, again, from that
which conduces to good condition we can infer what
good condition itself is, and conversely from the latter
can infer the former. For instance, if good condition
be firmness of flesh, it follows that bad condition is
flabbiness of flesh, and that what tends to produce
firmness of flesh conduces to good condition.
6 And, in the second place, if one of a pair of
opposite terms have more senses than one, the other
term will also, as a general rule, have more than one ;
so that here, if the term ''just" have several senses,
the term " unjust " also will have several.
7 And in fact it seems that both "justice" and
'* injustice " have several senses, but, as the difierent
things covered by the common name are very closely
related, the fact that they are difierent escapes notice
and does not strike us, as it does when there is a
great disparity— a great difference, say, in outward
appearance — as it strikes every one, for instance, that
the kKzIq (clavis, collar-bone) which lies under the
neck of an animal is different from the K\dg {clavis,
key) with which we fasten the door.
8 Let us then ascei'tain in how many difierent
senses we call a man unjust.
138 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. V.
i Firstly, he who breaks the laws is considered
unjust, and, secondly, he who takes more than his
share, or the unfair man.
\^ Plainly, then, a just man will mean (1) a law-
abiding and (2) a fair man.
A just thing then will be (1) that which is in
accordance with the law, (2) that which is fiaix ; and
the unjust thing will be (1) that which is contrary
to law, (2) that which is unfair.
But since the unjust man, in one of the two senses 9
of the word, takes more than his share, the sphere oi
his action will be good things — ^not all good things,
but those with which good and ill fortune are con-
cerned, which are always good in themselves, but
not always good for us — the things that we men pray
for and pursue, whereas we ought rather to pray that
what is good in itself may be good for us, while
we choose that which is good for us.
But the unjust man does not always take more lO
than his share ; he sometimes take less, viz. of those
things which are bad in the abstract; but as the
lesser evil is considered to be in some sort good, and
taking more means taking more good, he is said to
take more than his share« But in any case he is
imfair; for this is a wider term which includes the ii
other.
We found that the law-breaker is unjust, and is
the law-abiding man is just. Hence it follows that
whatever is according to law is just in one sense of
the word. [And this, we see, is in fact the case ;] for
what the legislator prescribes is according to law,
and is always said to be just.
1, 9-16.] JUSTICE. 139
.3 Now, the laws prescribe about all maimer of
things, aiming at the common interest of all, or of the
best men, or of those who are supreme in the state / ,i
(position in the state being determined by reference to Jf
personal excellence, or to some other such standard) ; ■;
and so in one sense we apply the term just to what-
ever tends to produce and preserve the happiness
of the community, and the several elements of that
14 happiness. The law bids us display courage (as not
to leave our ranks, or run, or throw away our arms),
and temperance (as not to commit adultery or out-
rage), and gentleness (as not to strike or revile our
neighbours), and so on with all the other virtues and
vices, enjoining acts and forbidding them, rightly
when it is a good law, not so rightly when it is a
hastily improvised one.
16 Jus tice, then, in this sense of the word, is com-
plete virtue, with the addition that it is displayed
towards othera On this account it is often spoken
of as the chief of the virtues, and such that "neither
evening nor morning star is so lovely;" and the
saying has become proverbial, "Justice sums up all
virtues in itself."
It is complete virtue, first of aU, because it is
the exhibition of complete virtue : it is also complete
because he that has it is able to exhibit virtue in
dealing with his neighbours, and not merely in his
private affairs ; for there are many who can be vir-
tuous enough at home, but fail in dealing with their
neighbours.
.6 This is the reason why people commend the say-
ing of Bias, " Office will show the man ; " for he that
140 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARiSTOTLE. DBk. V.
Of justice
(2) =fair-
nesSf how
related to
justice (1^,
What isju^t
in distri-
Imtion dii-
tinguished
frwn, what it
Justin
correction.
is in office ipso facto stands in relation to otheis,*
and has dealings with them.
This, too, is the reason why justice alone of all i
the virtues is thought to be another's good, as imply-
ing this relation to others ; for it is another's interest
that justice aims at — the interest, namely, of the ruler
or of our fellow-citizens.
While then the worst man is he who displays i
vice both in his own affairs and in his dealings with
his friends, the best man is not he who displays
virtue in his own affairs merely, but he who displays
virtue towards others ; for this is the hard thing to do.
Justice, then, in this sense of the word, is not a part i
of virtue, but the whole of it ; and the injustice which is
opposed to it is not a part of vice, but the whole of it.
How virtue differs from justice in this sense is 2i
plain from what we have said; it is one and the
same character differently viewed : f viewed in rela-
tion to others, this character is justice; viewed simply
as a certain character, J it is virtue.
2. We have now to examine justice in that sense i
in which it is a part of virtue — for we maintain that
there is such a justice — and also the corresponding
kind of injustice.
That the word is so used is easily shown. In the 2
case of the other kinds of badness, the man who dis-
plays them, though he acts imjustly [in one sense
of the word], yet does not take more than his sh€tre :
* While bis children are regarded as parts of him, and even his
wife is not regarded as an independent person : cf. infra, 6, 8.
t Or " differently manifested : " the phrase is used in both
senses.
{ Fatting comma after airX«s instead of after t^n (Trendelenburg) .
1, 17-2, 6.] JUSTICE. 141
for instance, when a man throws away his shield
through cowardice, or reviles another through ill
temper, or through illiberality refuses to help another
with money. But when he takes more than his
share, he displays perhaps no one of these vices, nor
does he display them all, yet he displays a kind of
badness (for we blame him), namely, injustice [in the
second sense of the word].
3 We see, then, that there is another sense of the
word injustice, in which it stands for a part of
that injustice which is coextensive with badness, and
another sense of the word unjust, in which it is
applied to a part only of those things to which it
is applied in the former sense of " contrary to law."
4 Again, if one man commits adultery with a view
to gain, and makes money by it, and another man
does it from lust, with expenditure and loss of money,
the latter would not be called grasping, but profli-
gate, while the former would not be called profligate,
but unjust [in the narrower sense]. Evidently, then,
he would be called unjust because of his gain.
5 * Once more, acts of injustice, in the former sense,
are always referred to some particular vice, as if a
man commits adultery, to profligacy ; if he deserts his
comrade in arms, to cowardice ; if he strikes another,
to anger : but in a case of unjust gain, the act is
referred to no other vice than injustice.
6 It is plain then that, besides the injustice which
♦ This is not merely a repetition of what has been said in § 2 1
acts of injustice (2) are there distinguished from acts of injustice
(1) by the motive (gain), here by the fact that they are referred to
no other vice than injustice.
V
142 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. CBk. V.
is coextensive with vice, there is a second kind of
injustice, which is a particular kind of vice, bearing
the same name * as the first, because the samB generic
conception forms the basis of its definition; i.e. both
display themselves in dealings with others, but the
sphere of the second is limited to such things as
honour, wealth, security (perhaps some one name might
be found to include all this class t), and its motive
is the pleasure of gain, while the sphere of the first
is coextensive with the sphere of the good man's action.
We have ascertained, then, that there are more 7
kinds of justice than one, and that there is another
kind besides that which is identical with complete
virtue ; we now have to find what it is, and what
are its characteristics.
We have already distinguished two senses in 8
\ / which we speak of things as unjust, viz. (1) contrary
to law, (2) unfair; and two senses in which we speak
of things as just, viz. (1) according to law, (2) fair.
The injustice which we have already considered
corresponds to the first of these senses of unjust.
But since unfair or too much is not the same 9
as contrary to law, but stands for a part, while the
latter stands for the whole (I name " unfair " as well
as " too much," because although too much is always
unfair, what is imfair is not always too much),
♦ Before (1, 7) the two kinds of injustioe were called 6fA(&ttv/Aa,
i,e, strictly, " things that have nothing in common but the name ; **
here they are called a'vv<&vuiMa, " different things bearing a common
name becanse they belong to the same genns," as a man and an os
are both called animals : cf. Categ. I. 1.
+ T«k iKrhs ay add is the name which Aristotle most frequently
uses, sometimes reb avKas hyaOd, as sujprOf 1, 9.
2, 6-llJ JUSTICE. 143
the corresponding senses of unjust and injustice
will not be the same, but different from the former
senses, standing for a part, while the former stood
for the whole ; for this injustice is a part of complete
injustice, and the corresponding justice is a part of
complete justice. We must therefore speak of justice
and i]:\justice, and of that which id just and that
which is unjust, in this limited sense.
10 We may dismiss, then, the justice which coincides
with complete virtue and the corresponding injustice,
the former being the exercise of complete virtue
towards others, the latter of complete vice.
It is easy also to see how we are to define that
which is just and that which is unjust in their corre-
sponding senses [according to law and contrary to
law]. The acts which manifest complete virtue
form, we may say, the great bulk of the acts which
are according to law ; for the law orders us to dis-
play all the virtues and none of the vices in our
11 lives. But the acts which tend to produce complete
virtue are those of the acts according to law which
are prescribed with reference to the education of a
man as a citizen.
As for the education of the individual as such,
which tends to make him simply a good man, wo
may reserve the question whether it belongs to the
science of the state or not ; for it is possible that to
be a good man is not the same as to be a good citizen
of any state whatever.*
12 But of justice as a part of virtue, and of that
* The two characters coincide perfectly only in the perfect
state : qf. Pol. III. 4, 1276 ^IS f .
144 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISIOTLE. [Bk. T.
whieli is just in the corresponding sense, one kind
ia that which has to do with the distribution of
hoDouFj wealth, and the other things that are divided
among the members of the body politic (for in theaa
circumstances it ia possible for one man's share to be
imfair or fair as compared with another's) ; and another
kind is that which has to give redress in privata
transactions.
The latter kind is again subdivided ; for private
transactions are (1) voluntary, (2) involuntary,
" Voluntary transactions or contracts " are such
as selling, buying, lending at interest, pledging, lend-
ing without interest, depositing, hiring ; these are
called "voluntary contracts," because the parties enter
into them of their own will,
" Involuntary transactions," again, are of two
kinds : one involving secrecy, such as theft, adultery,
poisoning, procuring, cornaption of slaves, assassina-
tion, false witness ; the other involving open violence,
such as assault, seizure of the person, murder, rape,
maiming, slander, contumely,
o/u,hiiu\ 3. The unjust man [in this limited sense of the!
indui"'""' ^'^'^]' '^^ ^^Y' ^^ unfair, and that which is lu^ust
m'Si-^i?"" ^ unfair.
iraporiion.''^ Now, it is plain that there must be a mean which
lies between what is unfair on this side and on that.
»And this is that which is fair or equal ; for any J
act that admits of a too much and a too little admita
also of that which is fair.
If then that which is unjust be unfair, that whiclj
is just will he fair, which indeed is admitted by all
Without further proof.
2, 12-3, 7.] JUSTICE. 145
But since that which is fair or equal is a mean
between two extremes, it follows that what is just
will be a mean.
4 But equality or fairness implies two terms at
least.*
It follows, then, that that which is just is both
a mean quantity and also a fair amount relatively to
something else and to certain persons — in other words,
that, on the one hand, as a mean quantity it implies
certain other quantities, i.e. a more and a less ; and,
on the other hand, as an equal or fair amount it
involves two quantities,t and as a just amount it
involves certain persons.
5 That which is just, then, implies four terms at l^
least : two persons to whom justice is done, and two
things.
6 And there must be the same " equality " [i.e. the
same ratio] between the persons and the things : as
the things are to one another, so must the persons
be. For if the persons be not equal, their shares will
not be equal ; and this is the source of disputes and
accusations, when persons who are equal do not
receive equal shares, or when persons who are not
equal receive equal shares.
7 This is also plainly indicated by the common
phrase " according to merit." For in distribution all
men allow that what is just must be according to
merit or worth of some kind, but they do not all adopt
the same standard of worth ; in democratic states /"^'^
* If this amonnt be eqnal, it mnst be equal to something else ;
if m7 share is fair, I mast be sharing with one other person at least.
t A's share and B's,
L
146 NICOMACHEAN ETmOS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
they take free birth as the standard,* in oligarchic
states they take wealth, in others noble birth, and in
the true aristocratic state virtue or personal merit.
We see, then, that that which is just is in some sort 8
proportionate. For not abstract numbers only, but
all'things that can be numbered, admit of proportion;
proportion meaning equality of ratios, and requiring
four terms at least.
That discrete proportion t requires four terms is 9
evident at once. Continuous proportion also requires
four terms: for in it one term is employed as two
and is repeated; for instance, t = - The term 6
c
then is repeated ; and so, counting b twice over, we
find that the terms of the proportion are four in
number.
That which is just, then, requires that there be lo
four terms at least, and that the ratio between the
two pairs be the same, i.e. that the persons stand
to one another in the same ratio as the things.
Let us say, then, - = -, or altemaTido - = j. li
The sums of these new pairs then will stand to
one another in the original ratio [ i.e. ^ = | or |] •
But these are the pairs which the distribution
joins together ; J and if the things be assigned in this
manner, the distribution is just.
* Connting all free men as equals entitled to eqnal shares.
X Assigning or joining certain quantities of goods (e and d) to
certain persons (a and h^»
3, 8-4, I.] JUSTICE. 147
13 This joining, then, of o to c and of 6 to d is
that which is just in distribution; and that which
ia just in this senBe ia a mean between that
which violates the proportion on this side and on
that ; for that which is proportionate is a mean
quantity, and that which is just ia, aa we said,
proportionate.
:3 This proportion ia called by the mathematiciana a
geometrical proportion ; for it is when four terms
are in geometrical proportion that the sum [of the
first and third] ia to the sum [of the second and
fourtli] in the original ratio [of the first to the second
or the third to the fourth].
L4 But this proportion [as applied in justice] cannot
be a continuous proportion ; for one term cannot
represent both a person and a thing. /"
That which ia just, then, in this sense ia that •'
which is proportionate; but that which is unjust
is that which ia disproportionate. In the latter
ease one quantity hecomea more or too much, the
other less or too Httle. And this we see in practice ;
for be who wrongs another gets too much, and
he who ia wronged gets too little of the good in
15 question: but of the evil conversely; for the leaser
evil stands in the place of good when compared
16 with the greater evil i for the lesser evil is more
desirable than the greater, but that which is desirable
ia good, and that which is more desirable is a greater,
good. ^
1 4. This then ia one form of that which ia just ofoat
[in the limited sense]; the other form of it is thatJicorr™
^■irhich is just in the way of redreaa, the sphoro of n^aHU-
148 NIOOMAOHBAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLB. [Bk. V.
meticai which is private transactions, whether voluntary or
involuntary.
This differs in kind from the former.
For that which is just in the distribution of a 2
common stock of good things is always in accordance
with the proportion above specified (even when it is a
common fund that has to be divided, the sums which
the several participants take must bear the same ratio
to one another as the sums they have put in), and that
which is unjust in the corresponding sense violates
this proportion.
J But that which is just in private transactions * is 3
indeed fair or equal in some sort, and that which is
unjust is imfair or unequal ; but the proportion to be
observed here is not a geometrical proportion as
above, but an arithmetical one.
For it makes no difference whether a good man
defrauds a bad one, or a bad man a good one, nor
whether a man who commits an adultery be a good
or a bad man ; the law looks only to the difference
created by the injury, treating the parties themselves
as equal, and only asking whether the one has done,
and the other suffered, injury or damage.
yj That which is tJiyust, then, is here something 4
unequal [or unfair] which the judge tries to make
equal [or fair]. For even when one party is struck
and the other strikes, or one kills and the other is
killed, that which is suffered and that which is done
* In the way of redress, as given by the law-courts : later on
(cap. 5) he gives as an after-thought the kind of jnstice which
ought to regulate bnjing and selling, etc. ; bat the law onlj en-
forces these contracts and does not regulate them (4, IS).
4, 2-7.] JUSTICE. 149
may be said to be unequally or unfairly divided ; the
judge then tries to restore equality by the penalty or
loss which he inflicts upon the offender, subtracting
it from his gain.
5 For in such cases, though the terms are not
always quite appropriate, we generally talk of the
6 doer's "gain" (e.gr. the striker's) and the sufi'erer's
" loss ; " but when the suffering has been assessed
by the court, what the doer gets is called "loss"
or penalty, and what the sufferer gets is called
"gain."
Now, what is fair or equal is a mean between
more or too much and less or too little ; but gain and
loss are both more or too much and less or too little
in opposite ways, i.e, gain is more or too much good
and less or too little evil, and loss the opposite of
this.
And in the mean between them, as we found,
lies that which is equal or fair, which we say is
just.
That which is just in the way of redress, then, is
the mean between loss and gain.
7 When disputes arise, therefore, men appeal to the
judge :* and an appeal to the judge is an appeal to
that which is just ; for the judge is intended to be
as it were a living embodiment of that which is
just; and men require of a judge that he shall be
moderate [or observe the mean], and sometimes even
call judges "mediators" (jiemSiovg), signifying that
* The ZiKaTToi at Athens combined the f anotions of jadge and
jury.
/
150 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
if they get the mean they will get that which is
just.
\/ That which is just, then, must be a sort of mean, 8
if the judge be a " mediator."
But the judge restores equality ; it is as if he
found a line divided into two unequal parts, and
were to cut off from the greater that by which it
exceeds the half, and to add this to the less.
But when the whole is equally divided, the parties
are said to have their own, each now receiving an
equal or fair amount.
But the equal or fair amount is here the arith- 9
TTietic mean between the more or too much and the
less or too little. And so it is called SIkqiov Qust)
because there is equal division (8ix°); SiKaiov being
in fact equivalent to Slxaiov, and Siicaorijc G^^g®) ^
Sixaarrig.
If you cut off a part from one of two equal lines lO
and add it to the other, the second is now greater
than the first by two such parts (for if you had only
cut off the part from the first without adding it to
the second, the second would have been greater by
only one such part) ; the second exceeds the mean by
one such part, and the mean also exceeds the first by
one.
Thus we can tell how much to take away from U
him who has more or too much, and how much
to add to him who has less or too little : to the
latter's portion must be added that by which it falls
short of the mean, and from the former s portion
must be taken away that by which it exceeds the
mean.
4, 8-13.] JUSTICE. 151
3 To iUustrate this, let A A', BB', CC be three
equal lines : —
A E A'
i
B B'
D Z C
From A A' let A E be cut off; and let C D [equal to
AE] be added to C C; then the whole D CC exceeds
EA' by CD and CZ [equal to AE or CD], and
exceeds BB' by CD.
And this * holds good not only in geometry, but
in the arts also; they could not exist unless that
which is worked upon received an impression corre-
sponding in kind and quantity and quality to the
exertions of the artist.
L3 These terms, "loss" and "gain," are borrowed from
voluntary exchange. For in voluntary exchange
having more than your own is called gaining, and
having less than you started with is called losing
(in buying and selling, I mean, and in the other trans-
• The point to be illnstrated is, that in these private trans-
actions what one man gains is eqnal to what the other loses, so that
the penalty that will restore the balance can be exactly measured.
Of this principle (on which the possibility of jastice does in fact
depend) Aristotle first gives a simple geometrical illustration, and
then says that the same law holds in all that man does : what is
snffered by the patient (whether person, as in medicine, or thing, as in
scnlptnre or agriculture) is the same as what is done by the agent.
This paragraph occurs again in the next chapter (5, 9) : but it
can hardly have come into this place by accident; we rather see
the author's thought growing as he writes. I follow Trendelenburg
(who omits the passage here) in inserting 8 before inoUi, but not
in omitting t^ before ir<£(rxoi^.
152 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
actions in which the law allows free play) ; hut when u
neither gets more or less, but both parties get, by free
exchange,* the very same amount with which they
started, then they allow that they have their own, and
are neither losers nor gainers. That which is just,
then, in these voluntary transactions f is a mean
between a gain and a loss, and consists in having after
the transaction an amount equal to that which you
\ had before it.
simpUre- ^ 6. Somc people, indeed, go so far as to think that i
nSJideniicaz simple requital is just. And so the Pythagoreans
ju*t,butpro- used to teach ; for their definition of what is just was
requitaiis simply that what a man has done to another should
what U just J " , 1 .
in exchange ; be donC tO him.
and this is
effected by But this simple rcQuital does not correspond either 2
means of ■*■ , "^ •*•
numey. We with that which is lust in distribution or with that
cannowgive ^ , , •*
dffStSSnof ^^^^^ ^^ j^^^ i^ ^^® ^^y ^^ redress (though this 3
justice (2), certainly is what people mean to express in the
Rhadamanthine rule —
" To suffer that which thon hast done is just ") ;
for in many cases it is quite different. For instance, i
if an officer strike a man, he ought not to be struck
in return; and if a man strike an officer, he ought
not merely to be struck, but to be punished.
Further, it makes a great difference whether what 5
was done to the other was done with his consent or
against it.
• aurd, almost = rh, aurd, " the very amount with which they
Btarted j " and 5t* aOrwv = 4k rrjs kKovaiov iiKKarrfis, by their own
will : neither party is defrauded secretly or openly, but each believes
that what he gives is worth precisely what he takes: the next
chapter gives the rule for determining this worth.
t For this use of vapd qf, I. 8, 7.
4, U-6, 8.1 JUSTICE. 153
6 But it is true that, in the interchange of services,
this is the rule of justice that holds society together, ,
viz. requital-'^^^^t proportionate requital, and not
simple repayment of equals for equals. For the very
existence of a state depends upon propoi-tionato
return. K men have suffered evil, they seek to
return it; if not, if they cannot requite an injury,
we count their condition slavish. And again, if men
have received good, they seek to repay it : for other-
wise there is no exchange of services ; but it is by
this exchange that we are bound together in society.
7 This is the reason why we set up a temple of the
graces [charities, x«/>«'"€c] in sight of all men, to re-
mind them to repay that which they receive; for
this is the special characteristic of charity or grace. )
8 We ought to return the good offices of those who
have been gracious to us, and then again to take the
lead in good offices towards them.
But proportionate interchange is brought about
by "cross conjunction."
For instance, let A stand for a builder, B for a
shoemaker, C for a house, D for shoes.*
• We had before (3, 11, 12) as the mle of distributive justice
A
^ =^i and the distribution was expressed by the "joining " (crjJfcwfts)
of the opposite or corresponding symbols, A and 0, B and D. Here
we have the same two pairs of symbols, ranged opposite to each
other as before ; but the exchange will be expressed by joining A to
D and B to C, i.e. by " cross conjunction" or by drawing diagonal
lines (4 Karh, Bid/xerpoy a^Cfv^is) thus :
A . .0
B. .0
154 NICOMACHEAN ETmOS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. V.
The builder then must take some of the shoemaker's
WQrk, and give him his own work in exchanga
Now, the desired result will be brought about if
requital take place after proportionate equality has
first been established.*
If this be not done, there is no equality, and
intercourse becomes impossible ; for there is no reason
why the work of the one should not be worth more
than the work of the other. Their work, then, must
be brought to an equality [or appraised by a common
standard of value].
This is no less true of the other arts and pro- 9
fessions [than of building and shoemaking] ; for they
could not exist if that which the patient [client or
consumer] receives did not correspond in quantity
and quality with that which the agent [artist or
producer] does or produces.!
* i,e, (as will presently appear), it mast first be determined
bow mnch builder's work is eqnal to a given quantity of shoemaker's
work: i.e. the price of the two wares must first be settled; that
done, they simply exchange shilling's worth for shilling's worth
{jkvri'ni'Kovd6{) ; e.g. if a fonr-roomed cottage be valued at £100, and
a pair of boots at £1, the builder must supply such a cottage in
return for 100 such pairs of boots (or their equivalent).
Fixing the price of the articles is called securing equality,
because, evidently, it means fixing how much of one article shaU be
considered equal to a given quantity of the other. It is called
securing proportionate equality, because, as we shall see, the ques-
tion that has to be determined is, ''in what ratio must work
be exchanged in order to preserve the due ratio between the
workers ? "
t Benefit to consumer = cost to producer; e.g, if £100 be a fair
price for a picture, it must fairly represent both the benefit to the
purchaser and the effort expended on* it by the artist. I follow
Trendelenburg in inserting before ivoUif but not in omitting rh
before vd<rxoy, Cf, note on 4, 12.
6, 9-11.] JUSTICE. 165
For it is not between two physicians that ex-
change of services takes place, but between a phy-
sician and a husbandman, and generally between
persons of different professions and of unequal worth ;
these unequal persons, then, have to be reduced to
equality [or measured by a common standard].*
[0 All things or services, then, which are to be ex-
changed must be in some way reducible to a common
measure.
For this purpose money was invented, and serves \
as a medium of exchange ; for by it we can measure
everything, and so can measure the superiority and
inferiority of different kinds of work — the number
of shoes, for instance, that is equivalent to a house
or to a certain quantity of food.
What is needed then is that so many shoes shall
bear to a house (or a measure of com) the same ratio
that a builder [or a husbandman] bears to a shoe-
maker.f For unless this adjustment be effected, no
dealing or exchange of services can take place ; and
it cannot be effected unless the things to be ex-
changed can be in some way made equal
11 We want, therefore, some one common measure
of value, as we said before.
This measure is, in fact, the need for each other's
services which holds the members of a society
together; for if men had no needs, or no common
* The persons have to be appraised as well as their work ; but,
as we soon see, these are two sides of the same thing : the relative
yalne at which persons are estimated by society is indicated by the
relative value which society pats npon their services, and this ia
indicated by the price put upon a certain quantity of their work.
t See note on § 12.
156 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
needs, there would either be no exchange, or a dif-
ferent sort of exchange from that which we know.
\( But money has been introduced by convention as
a kind of substitute for need or demand ; and this is
why we call it vofiKTfid, because its value is derived,
i not from nature, but from law (yofio^), and can be
altered or abolished at wiU.
Requital then will take place after the wares 12
have been so equated [by the adjustment of prices]
that the quantity of shoemaker's work bears to the
quantity of husbandman's work [which exchanges for
it] the same ratio that husbandman bears to shoe-
maker,* But this adjustment must be made,t ^ot at
the time of exchange (for then one of the two parties
would get both the advantages!), but while they
are still in possession of their own wares; -if this be
* e.g. suppose the husbandman is twice as good a man as the
shoemaker, then, if the transaction is to follow the nniversal role
of justice and leave their relative position unaltered, in exchange
for a certain quantity of husbandman's work the shoemaker must
give twice as much of his own. The price, that is, of com and
shoes must be so adjusted that, if a quarter of corn seU for 508.
and three pair of shoes sell for the same sum, the three pair of
shoes must represent twice as much labour as the quarter of com.
Aristotle speaks loosely of the ratio between the shoes and the com,
etc., but as their value is ex hypotheH the same, and as the relative
size, weight, and number of articles is quite accidental {e.g. we
might as well measure the corn by bushels or by pounds), the ratio
intended can oply be the ratio between the quantities of labour. He
omits to tell us that these quantities must be measured by time,
but the omission is easily supplied. He omits also to tell us how
the relative worth of the persons is to be measured, but he has
already said all that is necessary in 8, 7.
t Lit. " they must be reduced to proportion," i.e., in strictness,
the four terms (two persons and two things).
X i.e. have his superiority counted twice over. His {e.g. the hus*
bandman's) superiority over the other party (the shoemaker) has
6, 12-14] JUSTICE. 157
done^ they are put on an equal footing and can make
an exchange^ because this kind of equality can be
established between them.
If A stand for a husbandman and C for a certain
quantity of his work (or com), B will stand for a
shoemaker, and D for that quantity of shoemaker's
work that is valued as equal to C.
If they could not requite each other in this way,
interchange of services would be impossible.
13 That it is our need which forms, as it were, a
common bond to hold society together, is seen from the
fact that people do not exchange unless they are in
need of one another's se:vices (each party of the
services of the other, or at least one party of the
service of the other), as when that which one has,
e.g. wine, is needed by other people who offer to
export com in return. This article, then [the com to
be exported], must be made equal [to the wine that is
imported}.*
14 But even if we happen to want nothing at the
moment, money is a sort of guarantee that we shall be
able to make an exchange at any future time when we
happen to be in need ; for the man who brings money
must always be able to take goods in exchange.
been already taken into account in fixing the price of a quarter
of com as eqnal to three pairs of shoes : this is one advantage
which is fairly tis j bat it would be plainly unfair if, at the time
of exchange, the husbandman were to demand 50s. worth of shoes
for 25s. worth of com, on the ground that he was twice as good a
man : c/. Munro, Journal of Classical a/ad Sacred Philology^ vol. ii
In the text I have followed Trendelenburg's stopping, throwing
the words el 8^ /u^ . . . 6,Kpov into a parenthesis.
♦ i.e, each must be valued in money, so that so many quarters o.'
oom fifhft ii exchange for so many hogsheads of wine.
/ 158 KICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLE. £Bk. V.
■ V Money is, indeed, subject to the same conditions
as other things : its value is not always the same ;
but still it tends to be more constant than the value
of anything else.
^1 Everything, then, must be assessed in money ; for
this enables men always to exchange their services,
and so makes society possible.
\/ Money, then, as a standard, serves to reduce things
to a common measure, so that equal amounts of each
may be taken ; for there would be no society if there
were no exchange, and no exchange if there were no
equality, and no equality if it were not possible to
reduce things to a common measure.
In strictness, indeed, it is impossible to find any 15
common measure for things so extremely diverse;
but our needs give a standard which is sufficiently
accurate for practical purposes.
There must, then, be some one common symbol for
this, and that a conventional symbol ; so we call it
money (yofxiafxa, vojuoc). Money makes all things
commensurable, for all things are valued in money.
For instance, let A stand for a house, B for ten minse,
C for a bed; and let A = — , taking a house to be
• worth or equal to five minse, and let C (the bed) = ^.
We see at once, then, how many beds are equal to
one house, viz. five.
It is evident that, before money came into use, 16
all exchange must have been of this kind : it makes
no difference whether you give five beds for a house,
or the value of five beds.
Thus we have described that which is unjust and 17
6, 15-18.] JUSTICE. 159
that which is just. And now that these are deter-
mined^ we can see that doing justice is a mean
between doing and suffering injustice; for the one
is having too much, or more, and the other too little, .
or less than one's due.
We see also that the virtue justice is moderation
[or a mode of observing the mean], but not quite in
the same way as the virtues hitherto spoken of. It
does indeed observe a mean, but both the extremes
fall under the single vice injustice.*
We see also that justice is that habit in respect
of which the just man is said to be apt to do
deliberately that which is just; that is to say, in
dealings between himself and another (or between
two other parties), to apportion things, not so that he
shall get more or too much, and his neighbour less or
L8 too little, of what is desirable, and conversely with
what is disadvantageous, but so that each shall get
his fair, that is, his proportionate share, and similarly
in dealings between two other parties.
And from this we may get the definition of
injustice, if for "that which is just" we substitute
*' that which is unjust," which is a disproportionate
amount, that is, too much and too little of what is
advantageous and disadvantageous respectively.
• The mean which justice aims at (the just thing, the due share
of goods) lies between two extremes, too much and too little ; so
fskr justice is analogous to the other virtues : but whereas in
other jQelds these two extremes are chosen hj different and opposite
characters (e.g. the cowardly and the foolhardy), the unjust man
chooses both, too much good for himself and too little for his neigh-
bour, too little evil for himself and too much fo^ his neighbour.
To get too little good is to suffer injustice, but the habitual choice
of it is regarded as an impossibility.
^/
160 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE, [Bk. V.
4
Thus injustice, as we say, is both an excess and
a deficiency, in that it chooses both an excess and a
deficiency — in one's own affairs choosing excess of
what is, as a general rule, advantageous, and de-
ficiency of what is disadvantageous ; in the affairs of
others making a similarly disproportionate assign-
ment, though in which way the proportion is violated
wiU depend upon circumstances.
But of the two sides of the act of injustice, suffer-
ing is a lesser wrong than doing the injustice.
Let this, then, be accepted as our account, in li
general terms, of the nature of justice and injustice
respectively, and of that which is just and that which
is imjust.
iotu can act ®* "^^^ sincc it is possiblc for a man to do an act i
^at!^ of injustice without yet being xmjust, what acts of
,^t5"**" injustice are there, such that the doing of them
u^ui^ stamps a man at once as unjust in this or that parti-
'uut^ cular way, e.g, as a thief, or an adulterer, or a
fort<ijnpii«rODDer f
Perhaps we ought to reply that there is no such
difference in the acts.* A man might commit
adultery, knowing what he was about, and yet be
acting not from a deliberate purpose at all, but from
a momentary passion. In such a case, then, a man 2
acts unjustly, but is not imjust; e.g, is not a thief
though he commits a theft, and is not an adulterer
though he commits adultery, and so on.t
* It is in the state of mind of the doet that the difference liefli
not in the particular things done : c/. iTt/ra, cap. 8.
f This passage, cap. 6, §§ 1, 2, seems to have quite a natural
connection with what goes before, though the discussion is not carried
on here, but in cap. 8. Again, the disoassion which begins with
6, 19-6, 4.] JUSTICE. 161
8 We have already explained the relation which
4 requital bears to that which is just. But we must
not £ail to notice that what we are seeking is at
once that which is just simply [or without any
qualifying epithet], and that which is just in a state
or between citizens * Now, this implies men who
associate together in order to supply their deficiencies,
being free men, and upon a footing of equality, either
absolute or proportionate.
Between those who are not upon this footing,
then, we cannot speak of that which is just as be-
tween citizens (though there is something that can be
called just metaphorically),- For the term just can-
not be properly applied, except where men have a
law to appeal to,t and the eidstence of law implies
the existence of injustice; for the administration of
the law is the discrimination of what is just from
what is unjust.
But injustice impHes an act of injustice (though
an act of injustice does not always imply injustice)
which is taking too much of the goods and too little
tlie words irws fi^v oZy, cap. 6, § 8, though it has no connection with
§ % oomes naturally enough after the end of cap. 6, rh airXSos
tUtauiv oorrespondiag to rov hucaiov Koi iLdUov koBSxov, We haye,
then, two disonssions, both growing ont of and attached to the
disonssion which closes with the end of cap. 6, bnt not connected
-with each other. If the author had revised the work, he would, no
doubt, have fitted these links together ; but as he omitted to do so,
it is useless for us to attempt, by any rearrangement of the links, to
secure the close connection which could only be effected by forging
them anew.
* These are not two distinct kinds of justice ; justice proper, he
means to say, implies a state.
t Only the citizen in an ancient state could appeal to the law in
his own person ; the non-citizen could only sue through a citizen.
M.
;
162 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
of the evils of life. And so we do not allow an indi- 5
vidual to rule over us, but make written laws; for
an individual is apt thus to take more for himseli^
and to become a tyrant.
The magistrate's function, then, is to secure that
which is just, and if that which is just, then that
which is equal or fair. But it seems that he gets no 6
advantage from his office, if he is just ; for he does
not take a larger share of the good things of life,
except when that larger share is proportionate to his
worth. He works, therefore, in the interests of others
(which is the reason why justice is sometimes called
"another's good," as we remarked before).* Some 7
salary, therefore, must be given him, and this he
receives in the shape of honours and privileges ; and
it is when magistrates are not content with these
that they make themselves tyrants.
That which is just as between master and slave, 8
or between father and child, is not the same as this,
though like. We cannot speak (without qualification)
of injustice towards what is part of one's self — and a
man's chattels and his children (so long as they are of
a certain age and not yet separated from their parent)
are as it were a part of him — for no one deliberately
chooses to injure himself; so that a man cannot be 9
unjust towards himself.
We cannot speak in this case, then, of that which
is unjust, or of that which is just as between citizens;
for that, we found, is according to law, and subsists
between those whose situation implies law, i.e., as we
found, those who participate equally or fairly in
governing and being governed.
* Supi'ttf 1, 17.
tr
verUumal.
6, 5-7, 4.] JUSTICE. 1G3
The term just, therefore, is more appropriate to
a man's relations to his wife than to his relations to
his children and his chattels, and we do speak in
this sense of that which is just in a family ; but even
this is not the same as that which is just between
citizens.* (,. ^
7. Now, of that which is just as between citizens, n it in pa
part is natural, part is conventional. That is natural partcorU
which has the same validity everywhere, and does
not depend on our accepting or rejecting it; that is
conventional which at the outset may be determined
in this way or in that indifferently, but which when
once determined is no longer indifferent ; e.g. that a
man's ransom be a mina, or that a sacrifice consist
of a goat and not of two sheep ; and, again, those
ordinances which are made for special occasions, such
as the sacrifice to Brasidas [at Amphipolis], and all
ordinances that are of the nature of a decree.
Now, there are people who think that what is just
is always conventional, because that which is natural
is invariable, and has the same validity everywhere,
as fire bums here and in Persia, while that which is
just is seen to be'xiot invariable.
But this is not altogether true, though it is true in
a way. Among the gods, indeed, we may venture to
say it is not true at all ; but of that which is just
among us part is natural, though all is subject to
change. Though all is subject to change, nevertheless,
I repeat, part is natural and part not.
Nor is it hard to distinguish, among things that
may be other than they are, that which is naturjj
* Which alone is properly jnsfc.
164 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
from that which is not natural but dependent on law
or convention, though both are alike variable. In
other fields we can draw the same distinction ; we
say, for instance, that the right hand is naturally the
stronger, though in some * men the left may become
equally strong.
And so, of that which is just, that part which is 5
conventional and prescribed with a view to a par-
ticular endt varies as measures vary; for the measures
of wine and of com are not everywhere the same, but
larger where the dealers buy, and smaller where they
selL So I say that which is just not by nature but
merely by human ordinance is not the same every-
where, any more than constitutions are everywhere
the same, though there is but one co nstitu tion that is
naturally the best everywhere.
The terms "just " and " lawful" in each of their 6
several senses stand for universal notions which em-
brace a number of particulars ; i,e, the acts are many,
but the notion is one, for it is applied to all alike.
" That which is unjust," we must notice, is different 7
from " an act of injustice," and " that which is just"
from " an act of justice : " for a thing is unjust either
by nature or by ordinance ; but this same thing when
done is called " an act of injustice," though before it
was done it could only be called unjust. And so with
" an act of justice " (Siicafwjua) ; though in the latter
* Or " in any man,'* if we read irdyras, which is found according
to Jackson in all of the manuscripts.
t rh ^vix<l>4poyf which is nsually rendered " expedient," means
simply that which condnces to any desired end ; as the end varies,
then, so will the expedient vary : cf. III. 1, 15, note.
7, 5-8, 3.] JUSTICE. 1G5
case we rather employ SiKaioirpayriiia as the gen-
eric term, and restrict SiKaltofm to the correction of
an act of injustice. But as to the several species of
acts of justice and injustice, we must postpone for the
present the inquiry into their nature and number and
the ground which they cover.
8. Now that we have ascertained what is just and jv A^r
what is xmjust, we may say that a man acts unjustly ajJior
or justly when he does these things V^oluntarily ; but oce^Xa
when he does them involuntarily, he does not, strictly unjutti
speaking, act either unjustly or justly, but only
" accidentally," i,e, he does a thing which happens to
be just or unjust.* For whether an act is or is not
to be called an act of injustice (or of justice) depends
upon whether it is voluntary or involuntary ; for if it
be voluntary the agent is blamed, and at the same
time the act becomes an act of injustice : so something
unjust may be done, and yet it may not be an act of
injustice, i.e. if this condition of voluntariness be absent.
By a voluntary act I mean, as I explained before,
anything which, being within the doer's control, is
done knowingly (i.e. with knowledge of the person,
the instrument, and the result ; e.g, the person whom
and the instrument with which he is striking, and the
effect of the blow), without the intervention at any
point of accident or constraint; e.g. if another take
your hand and with it strike a third person, that is
not a voluntary act of yours, for it was not within
your control ; again, the man you strike may be your
father, and you may know that it is a man, or perhaps
that it is one of the company, that you are striking
♦ Of. § 4.
166 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
but not know that it is your father ; and it must be
understood that the same distinction is to be made
with regard to the result, and, in a word, to the whole
act. That then which either is done in ignorance, or,
though not done in ignorance, is not imder our control,
or is done under compulsion, is involuntary ; besides
which, there are many natural processes in which we
knowingly take an active or a passive part, which
cannot be called either voluntary or involuntary, such
as growing old and dying.
An accidentally unjust act and an accidentally just 4
act are equally possible ; e.g. a man might restore a
deposit against his will for fear of consequences, and
then you could not say that he did what was just or
acted justly except accidentally : * and, similarly, a
man who against his will was forcibly prevented from
restoring a deposit would be said only accidentally
to act unjustly or to do that which is unjust.
\^ Voluntary acts, again, are divided into (1) those 5
that are done of set purpose, and (2) those that are
done without set purpose ; i.e. (1) those that are done
after prevdous deliberation, and (2) those that are done
without previous deliberation.
. ■ Now, there are three ways in which we may hurt fi
/ our neighbour. Firstly, a hurt done in ignorance is
/ generally called a mistake when there is a misconcep-
tion as to the person affected, or the thing done, or the
instrument, or the result ; e.g. I may not think to hit,
* i.e. he willed the act not as jnst, bnt as a means of avoiding
the painfnl consequences ; the justice of it, therefore, was not part of
the essence of the act to him, was not among the qualities of the act
which moved him to choose it, or, in Aristotle's language, was
"accidental."
8, 4-9.1 JUSTICE 167
or not to hit with this instrument, or not to hit this
person, or not to produce this effect, but an effect
follows other than that which was present to my
mind; I may mean to inflict a prick, not a wound, or
not to wound the person whom I wound, or not to
deal a wound of this kind.
7 But [if we draw the distinction more accurately]
when the hurt comes about contrary to what might
reasonably be expected, it may be called a mishap :
but when, though it is not contrary to what might
reasonably be expected, there is stiU no vicious inten-
tion, it is a mistake ; for a man makes a mistake
when he sets the train of events in motion,* but he is
unfortunate when an external agency interferes.f
8 Secondly, when the agent acts with knowledge
but without previous deliberation, it is an act of
injustice ; e.g. when he is impelled by anger or any
of the other passions to which man is necessarily or
naturally subject. In doing such hurt and committing
such errors, the doer acts unjustly and the acts are
acts of injustice, though they are not such as to stamp
him as unjust or wicked; for the hurt is not done out
of wickedness.
9 But, thirdly, when it is done of set purpose, the ^
doer is unjust and wicked.
On this account acts done in anger are rightly
held not to be done of malice aforethought; for he who
gave the provocation began it, not he who did the
deed in a passion.
♦ whioh leads by a natural, though by him unforeseen, sequence
to his neighbour's hurt : negligence, or error of judgment.
t and gives a fatal termination to an act that would ordinarily
be harmless t accident.
168 KICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
Again, in such cases as this last, what men dispute 10
about is usually not whether the deed was done or
not, but what the justice of the case is ; for it is an
apparent injustice that stirs the assailant's wrath.
There is a difference between cases of this kind and
disputes about contracts: in the latter the question
is a question of fact, and one or other of the parties
must be a vicious character, imless his memory be at
fault; but in these cases they agree about the facts,
but differ as to which side is in the right, so that the
assailant (differing herein from the deliberate aggressor,
who knows very well the rights of the case) thinks
that he is wronged, while the other thinks differently.*
\ But if a man hurt another of set purpose, he acts li
unjustly, and acts of injustice (i.e. violations of what
is proportionate and fair), when so done, stamp the
doer as an tmjust character.
In like manner a man is a just character when he
of set purpose acts justly ; but he is said to act justly
if he merely do voluntarily that which is just,
v/ Of involuntary injuries, on the other hand, some 12
are pardonable, some unpardonabla Errors that
are committed not merely in ignorance but by reason
of ignorance are pardonable; but those that are
committed not through ignorance but rather in
ignorance, through some unnatural or inhuman pas-
sion, are not pardonable.f
♦ Throwing the words b 8* ^tjSovXe^as oIk hyvou into a paren-
thesis, after Zell. Bekker's stopping gives a sense which does not
seem to fit the context.
t In strictness, of conrse, snch acts cannot be called involun-
tary (hcoifffui) at all : c/. 8uj^ay III. 1, where the conditions of an
involuntary act are stated more precisely.
8, 10-9, 8.] JUSTICE. 169
9. But it may be doubted whether we have suffi- aundy
ciently explained what it is to suffer and to do c^oain,
injustice. First of all, are these terms applicable to ing irvuSi
such a case as that which is described in those strange
verses of Euripides ? —
" I slew my mother — brief shall be my tale —
Both willed it ; she at least willed, if not I." )
Is it really possible, I mean, to suffer injustice [or be i
wronged] voluntarily ? or is suffering injustice always /
involuntary, as doing injustice is always voluntary ?
Again, is suffering injustice always one way or 1/
the other (as doing injustice is always voluntary), or
is it sometimes voluntary and sometimes involuntary?
Similarly with regard to having justice done to
you: doing justice is always voluntary [as doing
injustice is], so that one might expect that there is
the same relation in both cases between the active
and the passive, and that suffering injustice and
having justice done to you are either both voluntary
or both involuntary. But it would surely be absurd
to maintain, even with regard to having justice done
to you, that it is always voluntary; for some that
have justice done to them certainly do not will it.
So we may raise the question in this [more general]
form : Can a man who has that which is unjust done
to him always be said to suffer injustice [or be
wronged] ? or are there further conditions necessary
for suffering as there are for doing injustice ?
Both what I do and what I suffer may be (as we
saw) "accidentally" just; and so also it may be
"accidentally" unjust: for doing that which is un-
tust is not identical with doing injustice, nor is
n/
170 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
suffering that which is unjust the same as suffering
injustice; and similarly with doing justice and having
justice done to you. For to have injustice done to
you implies some one that does injustice, and to
have justice done to you implies some one that does
justice.
But if to do injustice means simply to hurt a man i
voluntarily, and voluntarily means with knowledge
of the person, the instrument, the manner, etc., then
the incontinent man, who voluntarily hurts him-
self, will voluntarily suffer injustice, and it will be
possible for a man to do injustice to himself — ^the
possibility of which last is also one of the questions
in dispute.
Again, a man might, through incontinence, volun- 5
tarily suffer himself to be hurt by another also acting
voluntarily; so that in this case also a man might
voluntarily suffer injustice.
I think rather that the above definition is in-
correct, and that to " hurting with knowledge of the
person, the instrument, and the manner," we must
add " against his will." * If we define it so, then a 6
man may voluntarily be hurt and suffer that which
is imjust, but cannot voluntarily have injustice done
to him. (For no one wishes to be hurt, — even the
incontinent man does not wish it, but acts contrary
to his wish. No one wishes for anything that he
does not think good ; what the incontinent man does
* ^oiXiiffiv is used loosely for wUl, as there is no abstract term
corresponding to kKdv. Hence the well-known difficoltj in § 6, to
be solved I think (even after reading Jackson's ingenious ezplaim*
tion) by disregarding the words which I have bracketed.
9, 4-10.] JUSTICE. 171
7 is not that which he thinks he ought to do.) But he
that gives, as Glaucus gives to Diomede in Homer —
" Gk>ld for his bronze, fivescore kino's worth for nine/'
does not suffer injustice; for the giving rests with
him, but suffering injustice does not rest with one's
self; there must be some one to do injustice.
8 Itjs^plsiiin^iheii, ihaX suffering injustice cannot be
voluntary.
There are still two questions that we purposed to
discuss: (1) Is it the man who assigns or the man
wha receives a disproportionately large share that
does injustice ? (2) Is it possible to do injustice to
yourself?
9 In the former case, i.e. if he who assigns and not
he who receives the undue share does injustice, then
if a man knowingly and voluntarily gives too much
to another and too little to himself, he does injustice
to himself And this is what moderate persons are
often thought to do ; for the equitable man is apt to
take less than his due. But the case is hardly so
simple: it may be that he took a larger share of
some other good, e,g. of good fame or of that which is
intrinsically noble.
Again, the difficulty may be got over by reference
to our definition of doing injustice; for in this case
nothing is done to the man against his wish, so that
no injustice is done him, but at most only harm.
It is plain, moreover, that the man who makes
the unjust award does injustice, but not always he
who gets more than his share ; for a man does not
always do injustice when we can say of what he
\
172 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
does that it is unjust, but only when we can say
that he voluntarily does that which is uiyust; and
that we can only say of the prime mover in the
action, which in this case is the distributor and not
the receiver.
Again, there are many senses of the word " do," ii
and in a certain sense an inanimate instrument, or my
hand, or again my slave under my orders, may be said
to slay ; but though these may be said to do what is
unjust, they cannot be said to act ujijustly or to do an
act of injustice.
Again, if a man unwittingly gives unjust judg- 12
ment, he does not commit injustice in the sense of
contravening that which is just according to law,
nor is his judgment unjust in this sense, but in a
certain sense it is myuSt-T^for there is a diflFerence
i between that which is just according to law and that
I which is just in the primary sense of the word : but
if he knowingly gives unjust judgment, he is himself
grasping at more than his share, in the shape either
of favour with one party or vengeance on the
other. The judge, then, who gives unjust judgment 13
on these grounds, takes more than his due, quite as
much as if he received a share of the unjust award ;
for even in the latter case a judge who awards a piec€
of land would receive, not land, but money.
Men fancy that as it is in their power to act 14
unjustly, so it is an easy matter to be just. But it is
not so. To lie with your neighbour's wife, or to strike
your neighbour, or to pass certain coins from your
hand to his is easy enough, and always within your
power, but to do these acts as the outcome of a certain
9, 11-16.] JUSTICE. 173
character is not an easy matter, nor one which is
always within your power.* ^
16 Similarly men think that to know what is just
and what is unjust needs no great wisdom, since any
one can inform himself in those matters about which the
law prescribes. But what is just is not given (unless
it be accidentally) by the mere rules of law, but by
the application of these in a particular manner to our
actions and the distribution of gooda And to know
this, application is a harder matter than to know
what conduces to health; though that is no easy
matter. It is easy enough to know the meaning of
honey, and wine, and hellebore, and cautery, and the f
knife, but to know how, and to whom, and when they
must be applied in order to produce health, is so far
from being easy, that to have this knowledge is to be
a physician.
16 For the same reason, some people think that the
just man is as able to act unjustly as justly, for he
is not less but rather more capable than another of
performing the several acts, e.g. of lying with a
woman or of striking a blow, as the courageous man
is rather more capable than another of throwing away
his shield and turning his back and running away
anywhere. But to play the coward or to act unjustly
means not merely to do such an act (though the
* Yon can always do the acts if yon want to do them, t.e. if yon
wiU them j bnt yon cannot at will do them in the spirit of a jnst
man or as the ontcome of a jnst character; for character is the
result of a series of acts of will : cf. sv/pra^ III. 5, 22. The contra-
diction between this and III. 5, 2, is only apparent : we are respon-
sible for onr character, though we cannot change it at a moment's
notice.
174 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. V
doer might be said " accidentally " to act unjustly
but to do it in a certain firame of mind ; just as to act
the part of a doctor and to heal does not mean simply
to apply the knife or not to apply it, to give or to
jnthhold a drug, but to do this in a particular fashion.
V Justice, lastly, implies persons who participate in 17
those things that, generally speaking, are good, but who
can have too much or too little of them. For some —
for the gods perhaps — no amoimt of them is too much ;
and for others — ^for the incurably vicious — ^no amount
is beneficial, they are always hurtful ; but for the rest
of mankind they are useful within certain limits :
justice, therefore, is essentially human.
f equity. 10* Wc havo ucxt to spcak of equity and of that 1
which is equitable, and to inquire how equity is
related to justice, and that which is equitable to that
which is just. For, on consideration, they do not
seem to be absolutely identical, nor yet generically
different. At one time we praise that which is
equitable and the equitable man, and even use the
word metaphorically as a term of praise synonymous
with good, showing that we consider that the more
equitable a thing is the better it is. At another
time we reflect and find it strange that what is
equitable should be praiseworthy, if it be different
from what is just ; for, we argue, if it be something
sj else, either what is just is not good, or what is equit-
able is not good ; f if both be good, they are the same.
* Gf. swpray 8, 1-4.
t Ow iUaiov I have omitted (after Trendelenburfr) as obviously
wrong. We may suppose either that the original ov ffirovdouoy was
altered into od SlKcuoPt or (more probably) that ov dfKcuoy or Hkouop
was inserted by a bungling copyist.
9, 17-10, 5.J JUSTICE. • 175
2 These are the reflections which give rise to the
difficulty about what is equitable. Now, in a way,
they are all correct and not incompatible with one
another; for that which is equitable, though it is
better than that which is just (in one sense of the
word), is yet itself just, and is not better than what
is just in the sense of being something generically j
distinct from it. What is just, then, and what is y
equitable are generically the same, and both are good,
though what is equitable is better,
3 But what obscures the matter is that though \J
what is equitable is just, it is not identical with, but
a correction of, that which is just according to law.
\ The reason of this is that every law is laid down
in general terms, while there are matters about which y
it is impossible to speak correctly in general terms.
Where, then, it is necessary to speak in general terms,
but impossible to do so correctly, the legislator lays
down that which holds good for the majority of
cases, being quite aware that it does not hold good
for aU.
The law, indeed, is none the less correctly laid
down because of this defect; for the defect lies not
in the law, nor in the lawgiver, but in the nature of
the subject-matter, being necessarily involved in the
very conditions of human action.
When, therefore, the law lays down a general rule,
but a particular case occurs which is an exception to
this rule, it is right, where the legislator fails and is
in error through speaking without qualification, to
make good this deficiency, just as the lawgiver him-
self would do if he were present, and as he would
176 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. V.
have provided in the law itself if the case had occurred
to him.
What is equitable, then, is just, and better than 6
what is just in one sense of the word — ^not better
than what is absolutely just, but better than that
which fails through its lack of qualification. And the
essence of what is equitable is that it is an amend-
\ ment of the law, in those points where it fails through
the generality of its language.
The reason why the law does not cover all cases
is that there are matters about which it is impossible
to lay down a law, so that they require a special
decree. For that which is variable needs a variable 7
rule, like the leaden rule employed in the Lesbian style
of masonry ; as the leaden rule has no fixed shape, but
adapts itself to the outline of each stone, so is the
decree adapted to the occasion.
We have ascertained, then, what the equitable 8
course is, and have found that it is just, and also
better than what is just in a certain sense of the
word. And after this it is easy to see what the
equitable man is: he who is apt to choose such a
course and to follow it, who does not insist on his
rights to the damage of others, but is ready to take
less than his due, even when he has the law to back
him, is called an equitable man; and this type of
character is called equitableness, being a sort of justice,
and not a difierent kind of character.
'.naman ^^* The foregoing discussion enables us to answer 1
jng htm- ^j^^ qucstiou whcthcr it be possible or not for a man
to act unjustly to himself.
That which is just in one sense of the word we
10, 6-11, 4] JlJSTIOa. 177
found to be those manifestations of the sevelral virtues
which the law prescribes : e.g. the law does not order
a man to kill himself; and what the law does not
order it forbids : and, further, when a man, contrary
to the law, voluntarily inflicts hurt without provoca-
tion, he acts unjustly (voluntarily meaning with know-
ledge of the person and the instrument). Now, the
man who kills himself in a rage voluntarily acts thus
against right reason and does what the law forbids : •
he acts unjustly therefore.
But unjustly to whom ? To the state surely, not \J
to himself; for he suffers volimtarily, but no one can
have an injustice done him voluntarily. And upon
this ground the state actually punishes him, i.e. it pro-
nounces a particular kind of disfranchisement upon
the man who destroys himself, as one who acts unjustly
towards the state.
Again, if we take the word imjust in the other
sense, in which it is used to designate not general
badness, but a particular species of vice, we find that
in this sense also it is impossible to act unjustly to
one's self (This, we found, is different from the former
sense of the word : the unjust man in this second sense
is bad in the same way as the coward is bad, i,e. as
having a particular form of vice, not as having a
completely vicious character, nor do we mean to say
that he displays a completely vicious character when
we say that he acts unjustly). For if it were possible,
it would be possible for the same thing at the same
time to be taken from and added to the same person.
But this is impossible ; and, in fact, a just deed or an ^
unjust deed always implies more persons than one. ''
K
178 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. T.
Further, an act of injiistice, besides being voluntary, 6
if not deliberate, must be prior to hurt received Cfor
he who, having received some hurt, repays the same
that he received is not held to act unjustly) ; but he
who hurts himself suffers that very hurt at the same
time that he inflicts it.
V Again, if it were possible for a man to act unjustly 6
to himself, it would be possible to suffer injustice
voluntarily.
Further, a man cannot act unjustly without doing
an act of injustice of some particular kind ; but no
one commits adultery with his own wife, or burglari-
ously breaks through his own walls, or steals his
own property.
But the whole question about acting unjustly to
one's self is settled (without going into detail) by the
answer we gave * to the question whether a man could
voluntarily suffer injustice.
(It is plain that to suffer and to do injustice are 7
both bad, for the one is to get less and the other more
than the mean amount, which corresponds to what is
healthy in medicine, or to what promotes good con-
dition in gymnastics : but, though both are bad, to do
injustice is the worse ; for to do injustice i& blamable
and implies vice (either completely formed vice, what
we call vice simply, or else that which is on the way
to become vice ; for a voluntary act of injustice does
not always imply injustice), but to have injustice done
to you is no token of a vicious and tmjust character.
In itself, then, to be unjustly treated is less bad, 8
but there is nothing to prevent its being accidentally
• Supray cap. 0.
11, 5-9.] JUSTICE. 171)
the greater eviL Science, however, does not concern
itself with these accidents, but calls a pleurisy a
greater malady than a stumble;- and yet the latter
might, on occasion, accidentally become the greater,
as, for instance, if a stumble were to cause you to fall
and be caught by the enemy and slain.)
9 Though we cannot apply the term just to a man's
behaviour towards himself, yet we can apply it meta-
phorically and in virtue of a certain resemblance to
the relations between certain parts of a man's self—
not, however, in all senses of the word just, but in that
sense in which it is applied to the relations of master
and slave, or husband and wife ; for this is the soi-t
of relation that exists between the rational and the
irrational parts of the souL
And it is this distinction of parts that leads people
to fancy that there i& such a thing as injustice
to one's self : one part of a man can have something
done to it by another part contrary to its desires ;
and so they think that the term just can be applied
to the relations of these parts to one another, just as
to the relations of ruler and ruled.*
We may now consider that we have concluded our
examination of justice and the other moral virtues.
* Whereas, says Aristotle, we cannot sp^k alt all of jnstioe or
injustice to one's self, and it is only by way of metaphor that we
can apply the terms even to the relations of parts of the self — not
strictly, since the parts are not persons.
^Jatk...
BOOK VI.
THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTXJES.
MuH he 1. We said above that what we should choose is 1
hecause neither too much nor too little, but " the mean," and
^L^jS? that " the mean " is what " right reason " prescribes.
th^ meant rm.* i_ x i •
(b) they are ihis WO now havo to explain.
hJ^ln Each of the viriiues we have discussed implies (as
esBcellenee
TheinteLUct evcpy mental habit implies) some aim which the
tijic, (2) cau rational man keeps in view when he is regulating his
culative: we c? «^
v>ant tha efforts : in other words, there must be some standard
virtue (ff %.(
each. Xfor determining the several modes of moderation,
which we say lie between excess and deficiency, and
are in accordance with "right reason." But though 2
this is quite true, it is not sufficiently precise. In
any kind of occupation which can be reduced to
rational principles, it is quite true to say that we
must brace ourselves up and relax ourselves neither
too much nor too little, but "in moderation," " as right
reason orders ; " but this alone would not tell one
much ; e.g. a man would hardly learn how to treat a
case by being told to treat it as the art of medicine
prescribes, and as one versed in that art would
treat it.
So in the case of mental habits or types of 3
character also it is not enough that the rule we have
1, 1-6.] THE IKTELLEOTUAL VIRTUES. 181
laid down is correct ; we need further to know pre- ^^
cisely what this right reason is, and what is the
standard which it aflTords.
4 * The virtues or excellences of the mind or soul, it
will be remembered, we divided t into two classes, /
and called the one moral and the other intellectual, v
The moral excellences or virtues we have already
discussed in detail; let us now examine the other
class, the intellectual excellences, after some prelimi-
nary remarks about the soul. /
6 We said before that the soul consists of two ]/
parts, the rational and the irrational part. We will
now make a similar division of the former, and will
assume that there are two rational faculties : (1) that ^
by which we know those things that depend on
invariable principles, (2) that by which w^ know
those things that are variable. For to generically
different objects must correspond generically different
faculties, if, as we hold, it is in virtue of some kind
of likeness or kinship with their objects that our
faculties are ablato know them.
6 Let us call the former the scientific or demonstra- <^
• This really forms quite a fresh opening, independent of §§ 1-3 ;
and it is one among many signs of the incomplete state in which
this part of the treatise was left, that these two openings of
Book VI. were never fnsed together. The scheme of the treatise, as
unfolded in Book I. (c/. especially I. 7, 13; 13, 20), gives the
intellectual virtues an independent place alongside of, or rather
above, the moral virtues ; now that the latter have been disposed of
it naturally remains to consider the former : this is the natural
transition which we have in § 4. But besides this the dependence
of the moral virtues upon the intellectual virtues makes an examina.
tiou of the latter absolutely necessary to the completion of the
theory of the former; thus we get the transition of §§ 1-3.
t 5if2>ra, 1. 18, 20.
.82 NIOOMACHBAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLE. [Bk. \ I.
tive, the latter the calculative or deUberafcive fiaculty.
For to deliberate is the same as to calculate, and no
I one deliberates about things that are invariable. On6
I division then of the rational faculty may be fairly
i^ called the calculative faculty.
\/ Our problem, then, is to find what each of these 7
faculties becomes in its full development, or in its
best state ; for that will be its excellence or virtue.
But its excellence will bear direct reference to
its proper function.
he functions/ 2. Now, the facultics which ffuide us in action and l
'thtxnteir- , °
ct, both in in the apprehension of truth are three : sense, reason,*
racticeand it. " — ■ ■■ » --.»
)ecuiation, and dcsire.
to attain. *■ /• i . . •
"<^ The first of these cannot originate action, as we 2
see from the fact that brutes have sense but are
incapable of action.
If we take the other two we find two modes of
reasoning, viz. affirmation and negation [or assent
I and denial], and two corresponding modes of desire,
\ viz. pursuit and avoidance [or attraction and re-
pulsion].
V Now, moral virtue is a habit or formed faculty of
choice or purpose, and purpose is desire following
upon deUberation.
It follows, then, that if the purpose is to be all it
should be, both the calculation or reasoning must be
true and the desire right, and that the very same
things must be assented to by the former and pursued
by the latter.
This kind of reasoning, then, and this sort of truth
has to do with action.
* vovs : the word is used here in its widest sense.
1, 7-2, 6.] THE INTELLEOTUAL VIBTUES. 183
/
3 But epeculative reasoning that has to do neither
with action nor production is good or bad according
as it is true or false simply : for the function of the
intellect is always the apprehension of truth; but
the function of the practical intellect is the appre-
/ hension of truth in agreement with right desire.
4 Purpose, then, is the cause — not the final but the
efficient cause or origin — of action, and the origin of
purpose is desire and calculation of means ; so that
purpose necessarily implies on the one hand the
faculty of reason and its exercise, and on the other
hand a certain moral character or state of the desires ;
for right action and the contrary kind of action are
alike impossible without both reasoning and moral
. character.
U Mere reasoning, however, can never set anything
going, but only reasoning about means to an end—
what may be called practical reasoning (which
practical reasoning also regulates production ; for in
making anything you always have an ulterior object
in view — ^what you make is desired not as an end in
itself, but only as a means to, or a condition of, some-
thing else ; but what you do is an end in itself, for
well-doing or jdght. action is the end, and this is the
IpJgedrsrHesire).
"^ Purpose, then, may be called either a reason that _rp
desires, or a desire that reasons ; and this faculty of
originating action constitutes a man. f '" - — ^.
\ — --lia.-pa^? event can be purposed ; e.g, no one
purposes to have sacked Troy ; for no one delibe-
rates about that which is past, but about that which
is to come, and which is variable : but the past
/
[
mHATiaOU-
184 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. VL
cannot be undone ; so that Agathon is right when he
says —
We have thus found that both divisions of the
reason, or both the intellectual faculties, have the
attainment of truth for their function ; that developed
state of each, then, in which it best attains truth will
be ita excellence or virtue.
3. Let us describe these virtues then, starting :
afresh from the beginning.
Let us assume that the modes in which the mind
arrives at truth, either in the way of affirmation or
^ negation, are five in number, viz. art, science,_pru-^
dence, wisdom, reason j • for conception and opinion
may be erroneous.
What science is we may learn from the following
consideratiom^ (for we want a precise account, and
must not content ourselves with metaphors). We all
suppose that what we know with scientific know-
ledge is invariable ; but of that which is variable
we cannot say, so soon as it is out of sight, whether
it la in existence or not. The object of science, then,
is necessary. Therefore it is eternal : for whatever i*
of its own nature necessary is eternal : and what ia
eternal neither begins nor ceases to be.
Further, it is held that all science can be taught,
and that what can be known in the way of science
can be learnt. But all teaching starts from some-
■ roCs — need now in anarrowet apecial sense which will presently
be eiplaicod. 1
8, 1-4, 3.] THE INTELLEOTUAL V1BTUE8. 185
thing already known, as we have explained in the
Analytics ; for it proceeds either by induction or by
syllogism. Now, it is induction that leads the learner
up to universal principles, while syllogism starts from
these. There are principles, then, from which syllo-
gism starts, which are not arrived at by syllogism, and
which, therefore, must be arrived at by induction.*
4 Science, then, may be defined as a habit or \/
formed faculty of demonstration, with all the further
qualifications which are enumerated in the Analytics.
It is necessary to add this, because it is only when
the principles of our knowledge are accepted and
known to us in a particular way, that we can pro-
perly be said to have scientific knowledge ; for imless
these principles are better known to us than the
conclusions based upon them, our knowledge will be
merely accidental, f
This, then, may be taken as our account of science, ty^
1 4. That which is variable includes that which ^*«o»-
ledge of
man makes and that which man does ; but making JJj;^{^,^
or production is different from doing or action (here ^^^^^^l^
2 we adopt the popular distinctions). The habit oT^^t
formed faculty of acting with reason or calculation, ^
then, is different from the formed faculty of producing
with reason or calculation. And so the one cannot
include the other ; for action is not production, nor is
production action.
8 Now, the bmlder's faculty is one of the arts, and
* Thongh, as we see later, induction can elicit them from e:c«
perience only because they are plready latent in that experience.
f We m&j know truths of science, but unless we know these
in their necessary connection, we have not scientific knowledge.
/
186 NIOOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk VL
may be described as a certain formed faculty of pro-
ducing with calculation ; and there is no art which
is not a faculty of this kind^ nor is there any faculty
of this kind which is not an art : an art^ then, is
the same thing as a formed faculty of producing
with correct calculation.
yj And every art is concerned with bringing some- 4
thing into being, i,e. with contriving or calculating
how to bring into being some one of those things
that can either be or not be, and the cause of whose
production lies in the producer, not in the thing itself
\ which is produced. AFor art has not to do with that
which is or comes into being of necessity, nor with
the products of nature ; for these have the cause of
their production in themselves.
Production and action being diflTerent, art of course 5
has to do with production, and not with action. And,
in a certain sense, its domain is the same as that
of chance or fortune, as Agathon says —
" Art waits on fortune, f oitiine waits on art,"
Art, then, as we said, is a certain formed faculty 6
or habit of production with correct reasoning or cal-
culation, and the contrary of this (arcx^fa) is a habit
of production with incorrect calculation, the field of
both being that which is variable.
td (3) of 5. In order to ascertain what prudence is, we will i
hat we do, first ask who they are whom we call prudent.
£ virtue ^f -r, Jii ••^i
e cdunda- , It secms to OB charactcnstic of a prudent man that
ve intellect. , ,
he is able to deliberate weU about what is good or
^ expedient for himself, not with a view to some par-
ticular end, such as health or strength, but with a
view to well-being or living well.
4, 4-6, 6j THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 187
2 This is confirmed by the fact that we apply the
name sometimes to those who deliberate well in some
particular field, when they calculate well the means
to some particular good end, in matters that do not
fell within the sphere of art. So we may say, gene-
rally, that a man who can deliberate well is prudent
3 But no one deliberates about that which cannot ^
be altered, nor about that which it is not in his
power to do.
Now science, we saw, implies demonstration ; but
things whose principles or causes are variable do not
admit of demonstration ; for everything that depends
upon these principles or causes is also variable ; and,
on the other hand, things that are necessarily deter-
mined do not admit of deliberation. It follows, \/
therefore, that prudence cannot be either a science
or an art : it cannot be a science, because the sphere
of action is that which is alterable ; it cannot be an
. art, because production is generically different from
action.
4 It follows from all this that prudence is a formed ^
feculty that apprehends truth by reasoning or calcu-
lation, and issues in action, in the domain of human
good and ill; for while production has another end
than itself, this is not so with action, since good
action or well doing is itself the end.
5 For this reason Pericles and men who resemble
him are considered prudent, because they are able to
see what is good for themselves and for, men ; and
this we take to be the character of those who are able
to manage a household or a state.
This, too, is the reason why we call temperance
188 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. VI.
(raxppoaivri, signifying thereby that it is the virtue
which preserves prudence. But what temperance 6
preserves is this particular kind of judgment. For it
is not any kind of judgment that is destroyed or
perverted by the presentation of pleasant or painful
objects (not such a judgment, for instance, as that
the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles),
but only judgments about matters of practice. For
the principles of practice [or the causes which originate
action] * are the ends for the sake of which acts are
done ; but when a man is corrupted by pleasure or
pain, he straightway loses sight of the principle, and
no longer sees that this is the end for the sake of
which, and as a means to which, each particular
act should be chosen and done; for vice is apt to
obHterate the principle.
\/ Our conclusion then is that prudence is a formed
faculty which apprehends truth by reasoning or cal-
culation, and issues in action, in the field of human
good.
Moreover, art [or the artistic faculty] has its excel- 7
lence [or perfect development] in something other than
itself, but this is not so with prudencaJI Again, in
, the domain of art voluntary error is not so bad as
involuntary, but it is worse in the case of prudence,
as it is in the case of all the virtues or excellence&
It is plain, then, that prudence is a virtue or excel-
lence, and not an art.
y And the rational parts of the soul or the intellectual 8
faculties being two in number, prudence will be the
* The oonoeption of the end is at once a cause er sonroe of
action and a principle of knowledge ; ipx'i covers both.
6, 6-6, 2.] THE INTELLEOTUAL VIRTUES. 189
virtue of the second^ [the calculative part or] the
faculty of opinion ; for opinion deals with that which
is variable, and so does prudence.
But it is something more than " a formed faculty
of apprehending truth by reasoning or calculation ; **
as we see from the fact that such a faculty may be
lost, but prudence, once acquired, can never be lost.*
6. Science is a mode of ludging that deals with (*) ofintv
umversal and necessary truths : but truths that « «*« ««*<j
, qf demon'
can be demonstrated depend upon principles, and J^^^
(since science proceeds by demonstrative reasoning) ^
every science has its principles^The principles, then,
on which the truths of science depend cannot fall
within the province of science, nor yet of art or
prudence; for a scientific truth is one that can be
demonstrated, but art and prudence have to do with'
that which is variable.
Nor can they fall within the province of wisdom ; 1/
for it is characteristic of the wise man to have a
demonstrative knowledge of certain things.
But the habits of mind or formed faculties by
which we apprehend truth without any mixture of
error, whether in the domain of things invariable or
in the domain of things variable, are science, prudence,
wisdom, and reason.t If then no one of the first
three (prudence, science, wisdom) can be the faculty
• For it implies a determination of the will which is more per-
manent in its nature than a merely intellectual habit. And further,
when once acquired it must be constantly strengthened by exercise,
as occasions for action can never be wanting.
t Art, which is one of the five enumerated above, is here
omitted, either in sheer carelessness, or perhaps because it is sub-
ordinate to prudence : qf. supra 5, 7.
/
190 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. VL
which apprehends these principles, the only possible
conclusion is that they are apprehended by reason.
c6j Of 7. The term aotfila (wisdom*) is sometimes applied 1
the union of in the domain of the arts to those who are consnm-
science and <»i« •• ft -rvt • -i •
intuuive mate masters of their art ; e.g, it is aj^lied to Phidias
reaton.
^htt^ as a master of sculpture, and to Polyclitus for his
tJlJ^'**^ skill in portrait-statues; and in this application it
'"^dSwe**^ means nothing else than excellence of art or perfect
development of the artistic faculty.
But there are also men wio are considered wise, 2
not in part nor in any particular thing (as Homer
says in the Margites —
" Him the gods gave no skiU with spade or plough,
Kor made him wise in aught"),
but generally wise. In this general sense, then,
wisdom plainly will be the most perfect of the sciences.
\j The wise man, then, must not only know what 3
follows from the principles of knowledge, but also
know the truth about those principles. Wisdom,
. therefore, will be the union of [intuitive] reason with
[demonstrative] scientific knowledge, or scientific
knowledge of the noblest objects with its crowning
perfection, so to speak, added to it. For it would be
absurd to suppose that the political faculty or pru-
dence is 'the highest of our faculties, unless indeed
man is the best of all things in the universe.
Now, as the terms wholesome and good mean one
thing in the case of men and another in the case of
fishes, whUe white and straight always have the
same meaning, we must all allow that wise means
* Of course we do not use ** wisdom *' in this sense.
7, 1-6.1 THE INTELLECl'UAL VIBTUEa 191
\/oiie thing always, while prudent means different
things; for we should aU say that those who are
dear-sighted in their own affairs are prudent, and
deem them fit to be entrusted with those affairs.
(And for this reason we sometimes apply the term
prudent even to animals, when they show a faculty
of foresight in what concerns their own life.)
Moreover, it is plain that wisdom cannot be the \^
same as statesmanship. If we apply the term wisdom
to knowledge of what is advantageous to ourselves,
there will be many kinds of wisdom ; for the know-
ledge of what is good will not be one and the same
for all animals, but different for each species. It
ean no more be one than the art of healing can be
one and the same for all kinds of living things.
Man may be superior to aU other animals, but
that will not make any difference here ; for there are
other things of a far diviner nature than man, as —
to take the most obvious instance — the heavenly
bodies.
5 It is plain, then, after what we have said, that
wisdom is the union of scientific [or demonstrative]
knonorledge and [intuitive] reason about objects of
the noblest nature.
sJ And on this account people call Anaxagoras and
Thales and men of that sort wise, but not prudent,
seeing them to be ignorant of their own advantage ;
and say that their knowledge is something out of the
common, wonderful, hard of attainment, nay super-
human, but useless, since it is no human good that
tb^seds:.
5 Prudence, on the other hand, deals with human
192 KIOOMAGHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. pte. Yt
affidrs, and with matters that admit of deliberation :
for the pradent man's special function^ as we conceive
it, is to deliberate well ; but no one deliberates about
what is invariable^ or about matters in which there
is not some end, in the sense of some realizable good.
\J But a man is said to deliberate well (without any
qualifying epithet) when he is able, by a process of
reasoning or calculation, to arrive at what is best for
man in matters of practice.
V Prudence, moreover, does not deal in general pro- 7
positions only, but implies knowledge of particular
facts also; for it issues in action, and the field of
action is the field of particulars.
This is the reason why some men that \bjSl
[scientific] knowledge are more efficient in practice
than others that have it, especially men of wide ex-
perience ; for if you know that light meat is digestible
and wholesome, but do not know what meats are
light, you will not be able to cure people so well as
a man who only knows that chicken is light and
wholesome.
V But prudence is concerned with practice; so that
it needs knowledge both of general truths and of
particular facts, but more especially J)hejp,tter.
But here also \i,e. in the domain of practice] there
must be a supreme form of the faculty [which we will
\now proceed to consider].
I 8. And in fact statesmanship and prudence are the 1
wit^stata- same faculty, though they are differently manifested.
S?S?/^ Of this faculty in its application to the state the %
wtetv*- supreme form is the legislative faculty, but the special
form which deals with particular cases is called by
T, 7-8, 4.] THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 193
the generic name statesmanship. The field of the
latter is action and deliberation ; for a decree directly
concerns action, as the last link in the chain.* And
on this account those enoraored in this field are alone
said to be statesmen, for they alone act like handi-
craftsmen.
8 Bat it is when applied to the individual and to
one's own affairs that this faculty is especially re-
garded as prudence, and this is the form which
I receives the generic name prudence or practical
' wisdom (the other forms being (1) the faculty of
managing a household, (2) the legislative faculty,
(3) statesmanship [in the narrower sense], which is
subdivided into (a) the deliberative, (6) the judicial
faculty).
4 Knowing one's own good, then, would seem to
be a kind of knowledge (though it admits of great
variety),! and, according to the general opinion, he
who knows and attends to his own affairs is prudent,
while statesmen are busybodies, as Euripides says^-
•'What ? was I wise, who might without a oare
Have lived a unit in the maltitade
Like any other unit ? . • •
For those who would excel and do great things "
For men generally seek their own good, and fancy
that is what they should do ; and from this opinion
comes the notion that these men are prudent.
And yet, perhaps, it is not possible for a man to
manage his own affairs well without managing a
* wpcucrhv &5 rh itrxo-rovt i.e. as the last link in the chain of causes
Inading to the proposed end — last in the order of deliberation, but
first in the order of events : c/. III. 8, 12.
t Yarying as the good varies ; cf, sv^rob, 7, 4, and I. 3, 2.
O
/
194 NICOMACHBAN ETHIOS OP ABISTOTLB. [Bk. VL
household and taking part in the management of a
state.
Moreover, how a man is to manage his own affairs
is not plain and requires consideration. And this is 5
attested by the fact that a young man may become
proficient in geometry or mathematics and wise*
in these matters, but cannot possibly, it is thought,
become prudent. The reason of this is that prudence
deals with particular facts, with which experience
alone can familiarize usjf but a young man must be
inexperienced, for experience is the fruit of years.
Why again, we may ask, can a lad be a mathema- 6
tician but not wise, nor proficient in the knowledge
\^ of nature ? / And the answer surely is that mathematics
is an abstract science, while the principles of wisdom
and of natural science are only to be derived from
a large experience ; f ^^^ that thus, though a young
man may repeat propositions of the latter kind, he
does not really believe them, while he can easily
apprehend the meaning of mathematical terms.
Error in deliberation, again, may lie either in 7
the universal or in the particular judgment ; for in-
stance, you may be wrong in judging that all water
that weighs heavy is unwholesome, or in judging
that this water weighs heavy. But prudence [in 8
spite of its universal judgments] plainly is not science ;
* Here in the looser sense, below (§ 6) in the stricter sense, which
is the technical meaning of the term in Aristotle: cf. supra, 7, 12.
t He does not mean that the principles of mathematics are not
derived from experience, but only that they are derived frozn the
primitive experience which every boy has, being in fact (as wo
shonld say) the framework on which the simplest knowledge of- an
external world is built.
1
8, £h-9, 2.] THB INTELLEOTUAL YIBTUES. 195
for, as we said,* it deals with the ultimate or par-
ticular fact [the last link in the chain], for anything
that can be done must be of this nature.
9/ And thus it is in a manner opposed to the
intuitive reason also: the intuitive reason deals
with primary principles which cannot be demon-
strated, while prudence deals with ultimate [particular]
facts which cannot be scientifically proved, but are
perceived by sense — ^not one of the special senses,
but a sense analogous to that by which we perceive
in mathematics that this ultimate [particular] figure
is a triangle ;t for here too our reasoning must come
to a stand. But this faculty [by which we appre-
hend particular facts in the domain of practice] should,
after all, be called sense rather than prudence; for
prudence cannot be defined thus.]:
9. Inquiry and deliberation are not the same; for o/dda«
deliberation is a particular kind of inquiry. But we
must ascertain what good deliberation is — whether
it is a kind of science or opinion, or happy guessing,
or something quite diflferent.
a v/ It is not science ; for we do not inquire about that
• Of, supra, § 2.
t The perception "that the ultimate fact is a triangle" (which
IB the more obvions translation of these words), whether this means
"that three lines is the least number that will enclose a space,"
or ''that the possibility of a triangle is a fact that cannot be
demonstrated/' is in either case not the perception of a particular
fact ; bnt it is the perception of a particular fact that is needed if
the illustration is to be in point.
X The intuitive reason (yovs) is here opposed to prudence
{ppSm/icrts) , but presently (cap. 11) is found to be included in it;
reason (vovs) was similarly in cap. 6 opposed to wisdom (ao^ia), but
in cap. 7 found to be included in it.
/:
196 KICOMACJHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. VL
which we know: but good deliberation is a kind
of deliberation, and when we deliberate we inquire
and calculate.
\/ Nor is it happy guessing; for we make happy
guesses without calculating and in a moment, but we
take time to deliberate, and it is a common saying
that execution should be swift, but deliberation slow.
^ Good deliberation, again, is diflferent from sagacity, 3
which is a kind of happy guessing.
Nor is it any kind of opinion.
But since in deliberating iU we go wrong, and in
deliberating weU we go right, it is plain that good
deliberation is a kind of rightness, but a rightness
or correctness neither of science nor opinion; for
science does not admit of correctness (since it does
not admit of error), and correctness of opinion is
simply truth ; and, further, that concerning which we
have an opinion is always something already settled.
y Good deliberation, however, is impossible without
calculation.
>( We have no choice left, then, but to say that it
is correctness of reasoning (Stavom) ; for reasoning is
not yet assertion: and whereas opinion is not an
inquiry, but already a definite assertion, when we
are deliberating, whether well or ill, we are inquiring
and calculating.
But as good deliberation is a kind of correctness 4
in deliberation, we must first inquire what delibera-
tion means, and what its field is.*
Now, there are various kinds of correctness, and it
* This, however, is not done here, perhaps because it has been
already done at length in III. 3«
9, 3-7.] THE INTELLECTUAL ViBTUEa 197
is plain that not every kind of correctness in delibera*
tion is good deliberation; for the incontinent man
or the vicious man may duly arrive, by a process of
calculation^ at that which he started to find,* so that
, he will have deliberated correctly, though what he
^ gains is a great e vil ) But to have deliberated well is
thought to be a good thing ; for it is only a particular
kind of correctness in deliberation that is called
good deliberation — ^that, namely, which arrives at
what is good.
5 But, further, what is good may be arrived at by a
false syllogism ; I mean that a right conclusion as to
what is to be done may be arrived at in a wrong way
or upon wrong grounds — the middle teim being
wrong ;t so that what leads to a right conclusion as
to what should be done is not good deliberation,
unless the grounds also be right.
6 A further difference is that one may arrive at the
right conclusion slowly, another rapidly. So we
must qdd yet another condition to the above, and say
that good deliberation means coming to a right con-
clusion as to what is expedient or ought to be done, and
coming to it in the right manner and at the right time.
Again, we speak of deliberating weU simply, and
of deliberating weU with a view to a particular
kind of end. So good deliberation simply [or with-
out any qualifying epithet] is that which leads to
right conclusions as to the means to the end simply ;
* The means to bis bad end.
t e.g. this act should be done simply becanse it is just ; I may
decide to do it for reputation, or for pleasure's sake, or thinking it
to be an act of generosity*
/
ence.
198 KICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLK [Bk. VL
a particular kind of good deliberation is that which
leads to right conclusions as to the means to a par-
ticular kind of end. And so^ when we say that
prudent men must deliberate well^ good deliberation
in this case will be correctness in judging what is
expedient to a particular end, of which prudence has
a true conception.
fintdiu 10. The faculty of intelligence (along with its l
opposite, unintelligence), in respect of which we call
men intelligent (and unintelligent), is not the same as
science generally, nor as opinion (for then all men
would be intelligent), nor is it identical with any par-
ticular science, such as medicine, which deals with
matters of health, and geometry, which deals with
magnitudes ; for intelligence has not to do with what
. is eternal and unchangeable, nor haa it to do with
J events of every kindy4)ut only with those that one
may doubt and deliberate about. And so it has to do
. with the same matters as prudence ; but they are not
identical ? prudence issues orders, for its scope is that
which is to be done or not to be done; while in- 2
telligence discerns merely (intelligence being equiva-
lent to sound intelligence, and an intelligent man to
a man of sound intelligence).
Intelligence, in fact, 15 equivalent neither to the 3
possession nor to the acquisition of prudence; but
just as the learner in science is said to show in-
telligence when he makes use of the scientific know-
ledge which he hears from his teacher, so in the
\ domain of prudence a man is said to show intelli-
gence when he makes use of the opinions which he
hears from others in judging, and judging fitly —
}
10, l-U, 2.] THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 199
for BOTindly [when we speak of sound intelligence]
means fitly.
And from this nse of the term with regard to
learning comes its employment to denote that faculty
which we imply when we call a man intelligent ; for
we often speak of the intelligence of a learner.
U. Judgment (what we mean when we speak cfjvOdmen
of a man of good judgment, or say a man has judg- ^u^S^ ^
ment) is a correct discernment of that which \&M^^^hMii
equitable. A proof of this is that the equitable ^C^^cat
man is thought to be especially ready to forgive, *"
and that to forgive some things is considered equit-
able. But forgiveness (avyyvwiiri) is judgment (yvw/iri)
^hich correctiy discerns that which is equitable-
/ correctly meaning truly.
2 Now, all these four formed faculties which we
have enumerated not unnaturally tend in the same
direction. We apply all these terms — judgment,
intelligence, prudence, and reason — to the same
persons, and talk of people as having, at a certain
age, already acquired judgment and reason, and as
being prudent and intelligent. For all these four
faculties deal with ultimate and particular* facts,
and it is in virtue of a power of discrimination in
the matters with which prudence deals that we call
a person intelligent, or a man of sound judgment,
or a forgiving man jj for equitable is a common
term that is applicable to all that is good in our
dealings with others.
• All parfcionlar facts (rh Ka^ tKwrrov) are tiltimato (?<rxaTo), ♦.«.
-nndemonstrable ; bnt not all ultimate facts (^o-xara) are particular
|^K>fcs — as presently appears.
i
200 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk, VL
^ But that which is to be done is always some 3
particular thing, something ultimate. As we have
seen, it is the business of the prudent man to know it,
and intelligence and judgment also have to do with
that which is to be done, which is something ultimate.
And the intuitive reason [the last of the four 4
y faculties above enumerated] also deals with ulti-
mate tniths, in both senses of the word ; * for both
primary principles and ultimate facts [in the nar-
rower sense of the word ultimate = particular] are
apprehended by the intuitive reason, and not by
demonstration : on the one hand, in connection with
/ deductions [of general truths in morals and politics],!
Y reason apprehends the unalterable first principles;,
on the other hand, in connection with practical cal-
culations, reason apprehends the ultimate [particular]
alterable fact which forms the minor premise [in
the practical syllogism]. These particular judgments,
we may say, are given by reason, as they are
the source of our conception of the final cause or
end of man ; the universal principle is elicited from
the particular facts : these particular facts, there- 6
fore, must be apprehended by a sense or intuitive
perception ; and this is reason.J
(And so it is thought that these faculties are
natural, and that while nature never makes a man
/ wise, she does endow men with judgment and intelli-
gence and reason. This is shown by the fact that 6
* Lit. in both directions, i.e. not the last only, bnt the first also.
t 0/. sitjwa, 8, 1, 2.
X This atcOria-is may be called vovs because the nniversal (the
general conception of human good) is elicited from these partioa«
lar judgments*
V
11, 8-6.] THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES. 201
these powers are believed to accompany certain
periods of life^ and that a certain age is said to
bring reason and judgment^ implying that they come
by nature.)
^ The intuitive reason, then, is both beginning
and end ; for demonstration both starts from and
terminates in these ultimate truths [which reason
supplies]. And on this account we ought to pay the
l/^same respect to the undemonstrated assertions and
opinions of men of age and experience and prudence
as to their demonstrations. For experience has given
them a faculty of vision which enables them to see
correctly.*
• Tlironghont this chapter we are concerned with the practical
inteUect alone. He has already stated in cap. 6 that the intnitive
reason is the basis of the speculative intellect ; here ho says that it
is also the basis of the practical intellect. We have to distinguish
here three different employments of the practical faculty :
(1) (if we invert the order), undemonstrated assertion, viz.
that .under the circumstances this is the right thing to do (§ 6) :
here the judgment is altogether intuitive ; i.e. no grounds are given.
(2) demonstration (improperly so called, more properly cal-
culation) that this is the right thing to do ; e.g, this act is to be
done because it is just : here the intuitive reason supplies the minor
premise of the practical syllogism (this act is just), and also (in-
directly) the major (whatever is just is good), i.e. it supplies the
data — the several particular intuitions from which the general pro-
position is elicited : iv rais irpaKriKois, sc. aTroBei^cffi (practical calcu-
lations), § 4; <if. Twy ^iroSei^ewj', § G, and oi cvKKoyifffiol rS>v ttpaKTuv^
12, 10.
(3) deduction or demonstration (also improperly so called) of
general truths in morals and politics : Kara ras hroSei^^tSf § 4 : here
also the data from which deduction starts can only be apprehended
by intuitive perception or reason : cf. I. 4, 7, 7, 20. The difference
between (2) and (3) is plainly shown supra 8, 2, where voXitik'^
in the wider sense (= vofioOenicfi) which deals with laws, is distin-
guished from iroXirticfi in the narrower sense which has to do with
decrees : ef. also 1,2, 7, and X. 9, 14.
202 NICOMAOHEAK ETHIGS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. VL
We have said, then, what prudence is, and what 7
wisdom is, and what each deals with, and that each
is the virtue of a different part of the souL
fduiuei 12. But here an objection may be raised. "What l
idpru- is the use of them ? " it may be asked. " Wisdom does
rudenceii not cousidcr what tends to make man happy (for
iated to , rrt/ \
evemcu. it does uot ask how anything is brought about).
\ Prudence indeed does this, but why do we need it ?
Pnidence is the faculty which deals with what is just
and noble and good for man, i.e. with those things
which it is the part of the good man to do ; but the
knowledge of them no more makes us apter to do
them, if (as has been said) the [moral] virtues are
habits, than it does in the case of what is healthy and
wholesome — ^healthy and wholesome, that is, not in
the sense of conducing to, but in the sense of issuing
from, a healthy habit ; for a knowledge of medicine
and gymnastics does not make us more able to do
these things.
" But if it be meant that a man should be prudent, 2
not in order that he may do these acts, but in order
that he may become able to do them, then prudence
wiU be no use to those who are good, nor even to
those who are not. For it will not matter whether
they have prudence themselves, or take the advice of
others who have it. It will be enough to do in these
matters as we do in regard to health ; for if we wish
to be in health, we do not go and learn medicine,
v/ " Again, it seems to be a strange thing that 3
prudence, though inferior to wisdom, must yet govern
it, since in every field the practical faculty bears
sway and issues orders."
U, 7-12, 7.] THB INTELLECTUAL YIBTUES. 203
We must now discuss these points ; for hitherto
we have been only stating objections.
4 First of all, then, we say that both prudence and
/ wisdom must be desirable in themselves, since each is
the virtue of one of the parts of the soul, even if
neither of them produces anything.
B^ Next, they do produce something.
Y On the one hand, wisdom produces happiness, not
in the sense in which medicine produces health, but
in the sense in which health produces health ; * that
is to say, wisdom being a part of complete virtue, its
possession and exercise make a man happy.
6 On the other hand [in the sphere of action], man
performs his function perfectly when he acts in accord-
ance with both prudence and moral virtue ; for while
the latter ensures the rightness of the end aimed at,
the former ensures the rightness of the means thereto.
The fourth t part of the soul, the vegetative part,
or the faculty of nutrition, has no analogous excellence;
for it has no power to act or not to act.
7 But as to the objection that prudence makes us
no more apt to do what is noble and just, let us take
the matter a little deeper, beginning thus : —
* «.e. in the sense in wUcli a healthy state of the body (f yfcm as
a c{(s in Aristotle's language) prodaces healthy performance of the
bodily functions {p^i^ia as an iv€py€ia),
t The other three are sense, reason, desire [oUffOTiffis, vovs, ^pe^is) :
<^. suprOf cap. 2. The excellences or best states of the desires have
already been described as the moral virtues. Wisdom and prudenco
are the excellences of the reason or intellect (^i/ovs in its widest
meaning). Sense {cHaOriffis^ does not need separate treatment, as it
is hero regarded as merely subsidiary to reason and desire; for
human life is (1) speculative, (2) practical, and no independent place
Shallowed to the artistic life. The fourth part therefore alone remains.
/
204 NICOMACHEAK ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. Vl.
We allow, on the one hand, that some who do just
acts are not yet just ; e.g. those who do what the laws
enjoin either unwillingly or unwittingly, or for some
external motive and not for the sake of the acts them-
selves (though they do that which they ought and aU
that a good man should do). And, on the other hand,
it seems that when a man does the several acts with
a certain disposition he is good; i.e. when he does
them of deliberate purpose, and for the sake of the
acts themselves.
Now, the rightness of the purpose is secured by 8
[moral] virtue, but to decide what is proper to be
done in order to carry out the purpose belongs not to
[moral] virtue, but to another faculty. But we must
dwell a little on this point and try to make it quite
clear.
There is a faculty which we call cleverness 9
(Sctvorijc) — the power of hitting upon and carrying
out the means which tend to any proposed end. If
then the end be noble, the power merits praise ; but
if the end be base, the power is the power of the
villain. So we apply the term clever both to the
prudent man and the villain.*
Now, this power is not identical with prudence, 10
but is its necessary condition. But this power, the
" eye of the soul " as we may call it, does not attain
its perfect development t without moral virtue, as we
said before, and as may be shown thus : —
All syllogisms or deductive reasonings about what
is to be done have for their starting point [principle
or major premise] "the end or the supreme good
* Beading rohs vcwoipyovs, ^ ^ As <l>p6v7iaiSf pmdenoe^
1% a-lS, 2.] THE INTELLECTUAL VIBTUEa 205
is so and so " (whatever it be ; any definition of the
good will do for the argument). But it is only to the
good man that this presents itself as the good ; for
vice perverts us and causes us to err about the prin-
ciples of action. So it is plain, as we said, that it
is impossible to be prudent without being morally
good*
L 13. This suggests a further consideration of moral nbwpru^
virtue : for the case is closely analogous to this — I raated to
. , moral virtttt
' mean that just as prudence is related to cleverness,
being not identical with it, but closely akin to it, so
is fully developed moral virtue related to natural
virtue.
All admit that in a certain sense the several kinds
of character are bestowed by nature. Justice, a
tendency to temperance, courage, and the other types
of character are exhibited from the moment of birth.
Nevertheless, we look for developed goodness as some-
thing different from this, and expect to find these
same qualities in another form. For even in children
and brutes these natural virtues are present, but
without the guidance of reason they are plainly
hurtful* So much at least seems to be plain — that
just as a strong-bodied creature devoid of sight
stumbles heavily when it tries to move, because it
cannot see, so is it with this natural virtue; but
when it is enlightened by reason it acts surpassingly
2 well; and the natural virtue (which before was only
like virtue) will then be fully developed virtue.
• We find, then, that just as there are two forms of
the calculative faculty, viz. cleverness and prudence, so
there are two forms of the moral qualities, viz. natural
206 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. YI.
virtue and fully developed virtue, and that the latter
is impossible without prudence.
On this account some people say that all the 3
virtues are forms of prudence, and in particular
Socrates held this view, being partly right in his
inquiry and partly wrong— wrong in thinking that
all the virtues are actually forms of prudence, but
right in saying that they are impossible without
prudence.
This is corroborated by the fact that nowadays 4
every one in defining virtue would, after specifying
its field, add that it is a formed faculty or habit in
accordance with right reason, "right" meaning "in
accordance with prudence."
Thus it seems that every one has a sort of inkling
that a formed habit or character of this kind {i.e. in
accordance with prudence) is virtue.
Only a slight change is needed in this expression. 6
Virtue is not simply a formed habit in dccordance
with right reason, but a formed habit implying right
reason.* But right reason in these matters is prudence.
So whereas Socrates held that the [moral] virtues
are forms of reason (for he held that these are all
modes of knowledge), we hold that they imply reason.
It is evident, then, from what has been said that it 6
is impossible to be good in the full sense without
prudence, or to be prudent without moral virtue.
And in this way we can meet an objection which
may be urged. " The virtues," it may be said, " are
found apart from each other ; a man who is strongly
♦ fi€rh \6yov : the agent must not only be guided by reason, bat
by bis own reason, not another's.
13, 8-ej THE INTELLEOTUAL VIBTUEa 207
predisposed to one virtue has not an equal tendency
towards all the others, so that he will have acquired
this virtue while he still lacks that." We may answer
that though this may be the case with the natural
virtues, yet it cannot be the case with those virtues
for which we call a man good without any qualify-
ing epithet. The presence of the single virtue of
prudence implies the presence of all the moral virtues.
And thus it is plain, in the first place, that, even
if it did not help practice, we should yet need pru-
dence as the virtue or excellence of a part of our
nature ; and, in the second place, that purpose cannot
be right without both prudence and moral virtue; for
the latter makes us desire the end, while the former
makes us adopt the right means to the end.
Nevertheless, prudence is not the mistress of wis-
dom and of the better part of our nature [the reason],
any more than medicine is the mistress of health.
Prudence does not employ wisdom in her service, but
provides means for the attainment of wisdom — does
not rule it, but rules in its interests. To assert the
contrary would be like asserting that statesmanship
rules the gods, because it issues orders about all public
concerns [including the worship of the gods.]
BOOK VIL
CHAPTERS 1-10. CHARACTERS OTHER THAN VIRTUE
AND VICE.
ofeonti- 1. At this point we will make a fresh start and 1
incwunencJsB.y that the Undesirable forms of moral character are
heroic virtui ,-, . , ... ,. -i i tx
and H three in number, viz. vice, incontinence, brutality.
ojmet?u)d. lu the casc of two of these it is plain what the
statement qf •• • • i • .i • j ji •!
opivioM opposite IS : virtue is the name we give to the opposite
cotuingnce, of vicc, and Continence to the opposite of incon-
tinence ; but for the opposite of the brutal character
it would be most appropriate to take that excellence
which is beyond us, the excellence of a hero or a
god, — as Homer makes Priam say of Hector that he
was surpassingly good —
" Nor seemed the child
Of any mortal man, but of a god."
If, then, superlative excellence raises men into gods, 2
as the stories tell us, it is evident that the opposite
of the brutal character would be some such super-
lative excellence. For just as neither virtue nor vice
belongs to a brute, so does neither belong to a god;
to the latter belongs something higher than virtue,
to the former something specifically diiferent from
vice.
1, 1-6.] INCONTINENCE. 209
8 But as it is rare to find a godlike man (an epithet
which the Spartans are wont to give to a man whom
they admire exceedingly, calling him aeXog* avfip),
so also is the brutal character rare among men. It
occurs most frequently among the barbarians; it is
also produced sometimes by disease and organic in-
juries ; and, thirdly, we apply the name as a term of
reproach to those who carry vice to a great pitch.t
4 However, we shall have to make some mention
of this disposition further on, J and we have already
discussed vice ; so we will now speak of incontinence
N/and softness and luxuriousness, and also of con-
tinence and hardiness — for we must regard these as
the names of states or types of character that are
neither identical with virtue and vice respectively
nor yet generically different.
6 And here we must follow our usual method, and,
after stating the current opinions about these aflfec-
tions, proceed first to raise objections, and then to
establish, if possible, the truth of all the current
opinions on the subject, or, if not of all, at least of the
greater number and the most important. For if the
difficulties can be resolved and the popular notions
thus confirmed, we shall have attained as much
certainty as the subject allows.
6 It is commonly thought (1) that continence and
V hardiness are good and laudable, while incontinence
and softness are bad and blamable; and, again (2),
• orcTos is a dialectical variety for Buosy godlike.
+ (1) Some men are born brutal j (2) others are made soj (3)
others make themselves so,
J InfrOf cap. 6.
P
t*"
210 NIGOMAGHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. YIL
that a continent man is identioal with one who abides
by his calculations, and an incontinent man with
one who swerves from them; and (3) that the in-
continent man, knowing that an act is bad, is impelled
to do it by passion, while the continent man, knowing
that his desires are bad, is withheld from following
them by reason. Also (4) it is commonly thought
that the temperate man is continent and hardy : but
while some hold that conversely the latter is always
temperate, others think that this is not always so ;
and while some people hold that the profligate is
incontinent, and that the incontinent man is pro-
fligate, and use these terms indiscriminately, others
make a distinction between them. Again (5), with 7
regard to the prudent man, sometimes people say it
is impossible for him to be incontinent; at other times
they say that some men who are prudent and clever
are incontinent. Lastly (6), people are called in-
continent even in respect of anger and honour and
gain.
statenuntof 2. Theso, then, are the common sayings or current l
iiffimltiescu • •
to how me OpmiOnS.
ri^htanddo But in what sense, it ma^r be objected, can a man
'*''^^' judge rightly when he acts incontinently ?
Some people maintain that he cannot act so if
he really knows what is right; for it would be
strange, thought Socrates, if, when real knowledge
were in the man, something else should master him
and hale him about like a slave. Socrates, indeed,
contested the whole position, maintaining that there
is no such thing as incontinence: when a man
acts contrary to what is best, he never, according to
1, 7-2, 5.] INCONTINENCE. 211
Socrates, lias a right judgment of the case, but acts
so by reason of ignorance.
2 Now, this theory evidently conflicts with ex-
perience; and with regard to the passion which
sways the incontinent man, if it really is due to
ignorance, we must ask what kind of ignorance it
is due to. For it is plain that, at any rate, he who
acts incontinently does not fancy that the act is good
tiU the passion is upon him.
3 There are other people who in part agree and
in part disagree with Socrates. They allow that
nothing is able to prevail against knowledge, but
do not allow that men never act contrary to what
seems best; and so they say that the incontinent
man, when he yields to pleasure, has not knowledge,
but only opinion.
4 But if, in truth, it be only opinion and not
knowledge, and if it be not a strong but a weak
belief or judgment that opposes the desires (as is the
case when a man is in doubt), we pardon a man for
not abiding by it in the face of strong desires ; but, in
fact, we do not pardon vice nor anything else that we
call blamable.
5 Are we, then, to Sy that it is prudence that op-
poses desire [in those cases when we blame a man for
yielding] ? For it is the strongest form of belief.
Surely that would be absurd : for then the same man
would be at once prudent and incontinent ; but no
one would maintain that a prudent man could volun-
tarily do the vilest acts. Moreover, we have already
shown that prudence is essentially a faculty that
issues in act ; for it is concerned with the ultimate
212 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. VII.
thing [the thing to be done], and implies the pos-
session of all the moral virtues.
/ Again, if a man cannot be continent without 6
having strong and bad desires, the temperate man
will not be continent, nor the continent man
temperate ; for it is incompatible with the temperate
character to have either very violent or bad desires.
They must, however, be both strong and bad in
the continent man : for if they were good, the habit
that hindered from following them would be bad, so
that continence would not be always good ; if they
were weak and not bad, it would be nothing to re-
spect ; and if they were bad, but at the same time
weak, it would be nothing to admire.
Again, if continence makes a man apt to abide by 7
any opinion whatsoever, it is a bad thing — as, for
instance, if it makes him abide by a false opinion :
and if incontinence makes a man apt to abandon any
opinion whatsoever, there will be a kind of incon-
tinence that is good, an instance of which is Neopto-
lemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles ; for he merits
praise for being prevented from persevering in the
plan which Ulysses had persuaded him to adopt, by
the pain which he felt at telling a lie.
Again, the well-known argument of the sophists, 8
though fallacious, makes a diflSculty : for, wishing to
establish a paradoxical conclusion, so that they may
be thought clever if they succeed, they construct a
syllogism which puzzles the hearer ; for his reason is
fettered, as he is unwilling to rest in the conclusion,
which is revolting to him, but is unable to advance,
since he cannot find a hole in the argument. Thus it
2, 6-12.1 INCONTINENOB. 213
9 may be argued* that folly combined with incon-
tinence is virtue: — by reason of his incontinence a
man does the opposite of that which he judges to be
good ; but he judges that the good is bad and not to
be done ; the result is that he will do the good and
not the bad.
.0 Again, he who pursues and does what is pleasant
from conviction, and deliberately chooses these things,
would seem [if this doctrine be true] to be better than
he who does so, not upon calculation, but by reason of
incontinence. For the former is more curable, as his
convictions might be changed ; but to the incontinent
man we may apply the proverb which says, " If water
Ll chokes you, what will you wash it down with ? " For
if he were not convinced that what he does is bad, a
change in his convictions might stop his doing it;
but, as it is, though he is convinced that a certain
thing is good, he nevertheless does something else.
Again, if incontinence and continence may be
displayed in anything, who is the man whom wo
call incontinent simply? For though no one man
unites all the various forms of incontinence, there
yet are people to whom we apply the term without
any qualification.
2 Something of this sort, then, are the objections
that suggest themselves; and of these we must re-
move some and leave others ; f for the resolution of
a difficulty is the discovery of the truth.
• This is the sophistical paradox alluded to.
t Of these objections, as well as of the opinions which called
them forth, it is to be expected that some should prove ground-
less, and that others should be established and taken up into the
Answer.
214 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [BK.VIL
Hution: to V 8. We have, then, to inquire (1) whether the in^ 1
Mnytentes: Continent man acts with knowledge or not, and what
mieiueha knowledge means here; then (2) what is to. be re-
garded as the field in which continence and incon-
tinence manifest themselves — I mean whether their
field be all pleasures and pains, or certain definite
classes of these ; then (3), with regard to the continent
and the hardy man, whether they are the same or
different ; and so on with the other points that are
akin to this inquiry.
(But we ought to begin by inquiring whether the 2
species of continence and the species of incontinence
of which we are here speaking are to be distinguished
from other species by the field of their manifestation
or by their form or manner — I mean whither a man
is to be called incontinent in this special sense merely
because he is incontinent or uncontrolled by reason
in certain things, or because he is incontinent in
a certain manner, or rather on both grounds; and
in connection with this we ought to determine
whether or no this incontinence and this continence
may be displayed in all things. And our answer
to these questions will be that the man who is
called simply incontinent, without any qualification,
does not display his character in all things, but only
in those things in which the profligate manifests
himself; nor is it simply an uncontrolled disposition
with regard to them that makes him what he is
(for then incontinence would be the same as pro-
fligacy), but a particular kind of uncontrolled dis-
position. For the profligate is carried along of hia
own deliberate choice or purpose, holding that what
3, 1-4.] INOONTINENCB. 216
is pleasant at the moment is always to be pursued ;
while the incontinent man thinks otherwise, but
pursues it all the same.)* [Let us now turn to
question (1).]
3 As to the argument that it is true opinion
and not knowledge against which men act in-
continently, it really makes no difference here; for
some of those who merely have opinions are in no
doubt at all, but fancy that they have exact know-
ledga
4 If then it be said that those who have opinion
more readily act against their judgment because
of the weakness of their belief, we would answer
that there is no such difference between knowledge
and opinion; for some people have just as strong
a belief in their mere opinions as others have in
* This Bectiom (§ 2) seems to me not an alternative to § 1 ; but a
(oorreotion of it, or rather a remark to the effect that the whole
passage (both § 1 and the discnssion introduced by it) onght to
. be rewritten, and an indication of the way in which this should be
done. Of considerable portions of the Nicomachean Ethics we may
safely say that the author coald not have regarded them as finished
in the form in which we have them. It is possible that the author
liiade a rough draft of the whole work, or of the several parts of it,
which he kept by him and worked upon, — working some parts up to
completion; sometimes rewriting a passage without striking out the
miginal yersion, or even indicating which was to be retained (0.^.
the theory of pleasure) ; more frequently adding an after-thought
which required the rewriting of a whole passage, without rewriting
it {e,g,, to take one instance out of many in Book V., rh &vriv€vop$6s
18 an after-thought which strictly requires that the whole book
should be rewritten) ; sometimes (as here) making a note of the way
in which a passage should be rewritten. Suppose, if need be, that
the work, left in this incomplete state, was edited and perhaps
farther worked upon by a later hand, and we have enough, I think, to
aooount for the facts.
216 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. tBK.Vn.
what they teally know, of which Heraclitus is an
instance.*
But we use the word know {iTrlfrraaOai) in two 5
different senses : he who has knowledge which he is
not now using is said to know a thing, and also he
who is now using his knowledge. Having knowledge,
therefore, which is not now present to the mind,
about what one ought not to do, will be different
from having knowledge which is now present. Only
in the latter sense, not in the former, does it seem
strange that a man should act against his knowledge.
Again, since these reasonings involve two kinds 6
of premises [a universal proposition for major and
a particular for minor], there is nothing to prevent a
man from acting contrary to his knowledge though
he has both premises, if he is now using the universal
only, and not the particular ; for the particular is the
thing to be done.
Again, different kinds of universal propositions
may be involved : one may concern the agent him-
self, another the thing ; for instance, you may reason
(1) "all men are benefited by dry things, and this
is a man ; " and (2) " things of this kind are dry ; "
but the second minor, "this thing is of this kind,"
may be unknown or the knowledge of it may be
dormant.f
These distinctions, then, will make a vast difference,
• Alluding to the Heraclitean doctrine of the union of opposites,
which Aristotle rather unfairly interprets as a denial of the law of
contradiction. 0/. Met. iii. 7, 1012* 24.
t i-e, not now present, ovk iyepyu : but in § 10 cVcpyc? seems to
mean " is e^ectively present."
3, 5-8] . INCONTINENCE. 217
SO much so that it does not seem strange that a man
should act against his knowledge if he knows in one
way, though it does seem strange if he knows in
another way.
7 But, again, it is possible for a man to " have know-
ledge " in yet another way than those just mentioned :
we see, I mean, that "having knowledge without
using it *' includes different modes of having, so that
a man may have it in one sense and in another
sense not have it ; for instance, a man who is asleep,
or mad, or drunk. But people who are under the
influence of passion are in a similar state ; for anger,
and sexual desire and the Kke do evidently alter
the condition of the body, and in some cases actually
produce madness. It is plain, then, that the in-
continent man must be allowed to have knowledge
in the same sort of way as those who are asleep,
mad, or drunk.*
8 But to repeat the words of knowledge is no proof
that a man reaUy has knowledge [in the full sense of
having an effective knowledge] ; for even when they
are under the influence of these passions people
repeat demonstrations and sayings of Empedocles,
• Action, in spite of knowledge presents no difficnlty (1) if that
knowledge be not present at the time of action, § 5, or (2) if, though
the major (or majors) be known and present, the minor (or one of
the minors) be nnknown or absent, § 6. But (3) other cases remain
which can only be explained by a farther distinction introduced in
§ 7 ; i»e. a man who has knowledge may at times be in a state in
which his knowledge, though present, has lost its reality — in which,
though he may repeat the old maxims, they mean no more to him
than to one who talks in his sleep. § 7, I venture to think, is (like .
§ 2) not a repetition or an alternative version, but an after-thought,
which requires the rewriting of the whole passage.
218 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLE. [Bk.VIL
just as learners string words together before they
understand their meaning — ^the meaning must be
ingrained in them, and that requires time. So we
must hold that the incontinent repeat words in the
same sort of way that actors do.
Again, one may inquire into the cause of this 9
phenomenon [of incontinence] by argimients based
upon its special nature,* as follows : — You may have
(1) a universal judgment, (2) a judgment about par-
ticular facts which faU at once within the province
of sense or perception ; but when the two are joined
together,! the conclusion must in matters cf specu-
lation be assented to by the mind, in matters of
practice be carried out at once into act ; for instance,
if you judge (1) "aU sweet things are to be tasted,*'
(2) " this thing before me is sweet " — a particular fact,
— ^then, if you have the power and are not hindered,
you cannot but at once put the conclusion ["this is
to be tasted "] into practice.
Now, when you have on the one side the lO
universal judgment forbidding you to taste, and on
the other side the universal, ''all sweet things are
pleasant,"! and the particular judgment, " this thing
before me is sweet," and this latter judgment is
effectively present, or, in other words, appetite for
the sweet is there — then, though iha former train of
reasoning bids you avoid this, appetite moves you [to
• ^vtriKcoSf by arguments based npon the special nature of the
subject-matter, opposed to hoyiKcoSf by arguments of a general nature ;
accordingly, in what follows both the elements of reason and desire
are taken into account.
t In a practical syllogism.
X Notice that 7jd\> here corresponds to yfifaOai Set above.
INCONTINENCE. 219
take it] ; for appetite ia able to put the several bodily
organa in motion.
And thus it appears that it is in a way under the
influence of reason, that ia to say of opinion, that
people act incontinently — opinion, too, that ia, not in
itself, but only accidentally, opposed to right reason,
11 For it ia the desire, not the opinion, that is opposed
to right reason.*
And this ia the reason why brutes cannot 1
incontinent; they have no universal judgments, but
only images and memories of particular facts.
12 As to the process by which the incontinenT"
gets out of this ignorance and recovers his knowledge,
the account of it will be the same as in the case of a
man who ia drunk or asleep, and will not be peculiar
to this phenomenon ; and for such an account we must
go to the professors of natural science.
1 3 But since the minor premise t is an opinion or
judgment about a fact of perception, and determines
action, the incontinent man, when under the influence
of passion, either has it not, or has it in a sense
in which, as we explained, ha\Tng ia equivalent,
• ThBminorpreniiBe,"thiBiaBweet,"obrioi:iBljifl not "opposed to
right reason ;" bat iB not tho major prcmiBe? In ona of the two
forniB in wliich it here appeoTB, viz, " aU sweet thingfl are pleaeant,"
it certainl]' is not bd opposed ; it morelf stateB a fact of experience
which the continent or temperate man oasentB to bb ninch aa the
incontinent. In its othor form, however, "all Bweet things ace to be
toBled," the judgment ia "opposed to right reasan;" bat it is bo
because desire for an object oondenmed by reason has bean added j
and thna it may be said tliat it is not the opinion, but tho desire,
which is opposed to right reason. It ia a defect in the e:?poBition
hero that the difference between these two forms of the major pre-
miae is not more CKpresely noticed.
■t Of the BjUogism which would forbLd him
220 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. DBk.VIC
not to knomng in the full sense, but to repeating
words as a drunken man repeats the sayings of Em-
pedoeles.
And thus, since the minor premise is not universal,
and is thought to be less a matter of knowledge than
the universal judgment [or major premise], it seems
that what Socrates sought to establish really is the u
case ; * for when passion carries a man away, what is
present to his mind is not what is regarded as know-
ledge in the strict sense, nor is it such knowledge
that is perverted by his passion, but sensitive know-
yledge merely, f
fincon- 4. So much, then, for the question whether the l
nence in
le strict incontinent man knows or not, and in what sense it
net in the
etaphoricai is possiblc to act incontinently with knowledge. We
next have to consider whether a man can be
incontinent simply, or only incontinent in some
particular way, J and, if the former be the case, what
is the field in which the character is manifested.
It is evident that it is in the matter of pleasures ji
and pains that both continent and hardy and/
incontinent and soft men manifest their characters. /
Of the sources of pleasure, some are necessary, an^
others are desirable in themselves but admit of
excess : " necessary " are the bodily processes, such
* Heading fnll stop after *EfivedoK\€ov5 and comma after Zpop.
t Or the perception of the particnlar fact. After all Socrates is
right: the incontinent man does not really know; the fact does
not come home to him in its trne significance : he says it is bad,
but says it as an actor might, withoat feeling it ; what he realizes is
that it is pleasant.
J As a man may be greedy (avXQs), or greedy for a particnlar
kind of food.
3, 14-4, 3.] INCONTINENCB. 221
as nutrition, the propagation of the species, and
other bodily processes, with which we said that
profligacy and temperance have to do ; others, though
not necessary, are in themselves desirable, such as
victory, honour, wealth, and other things of the kind
that are good and pleasant*
Now, those who go to excess in these latter in
spite of their own better reason are not called in-
continent simply, but with a qualifying epithet, as
incontinent with respect to money, or gain, or honour,
or anger — not simply, since they are different
characters, and only called incontinent in virtue of a
resemblance — just as the victor in the last Olympic
games was called a man; for though the meaning
of the name as applied to him was but slightly
different from its common meaning, still it was
different.! A
And this may be proved thus: incontinence is
blamed, not simply as a mistake, but as a kind of
vice, either of vice simply, or of some particular vice ;
but those who are- thus incontinent [in the pursuit of
wealth, etc.] are not thus blamed.
8 But of the characters that manifest themselves in
the matter of bodily enjoyments, with which we say
the temperate and the profligate are concerned, he
• CaTlQd also airXQs hryaBdf "good in themselves,*' as in V. 1, 9
(c/. V. 2y 6), and inrhs iyadd, " external goods," as in I. 8, 2.
f Ab we do not know the facts to which Aristotle alludes we can
only oonjectnre his meaning. It may be that the man in question
had oertain physical pecaliarities, so that though he *' passed for a
man " he was not quite a man in the common meaning of the name.
So Locke asks (Essay iv, 10, 13), *' Is a changeling a man or a
beast?"
i
y
222 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk VIT.
who goes to excess in pursuing what is pleasant and
avoiding what is painful, in the matter of hunger
and thirst, and heat and cold, and all things that
affect us by touch or taste, and who does this not
of deliberate choice, but contrary to his deliberate
choice and reasoning, is called incontinent — ^not
with the addition that he is incontinent with re-
spect to this particular thing, as anger, but simply/
incontinent. ^
- A proof of this is that people are also called soft 4
in these latter matters, but not in any of the former
Pionour, gain, etc.].
And on this account we group the incontinent
• with the profligate and the continent and the
temperate (but do not dass with them any of those
who are metaphorically called continent and incon-
tinent), because they are in a way concerned with the
same pleasures and 'pains. They are, in fact, con-
cerned with the same matters, but their behaviour is
different; for whereas the other three deliberately
. choose what they do, the incontinent man does not
And so a man who, without desire, or with only
a moderate desire, pursues excess of pleasure, and
avoids even slight pains, would more properly be
called profligate than one who is impelled so to act
by violent desires ; for what would the former do if
the violent passions of youth were added, and if it
were violent pain to him to forego the satisfaction of
his natural appetites ?
But some of our desires and pleasures are to be 5
classed as noble and good; for of the things that
please us, some are naturally desirable (others being
4, 4-6.1 INCONTINENOB. 223
the reverse of this, and others, again, between the
two, as we explained before*), such as money and
gain and victory and honour. With regard both to
these, then, and to the intermediate class [of things
indifferent], men are blamed not for being affected
by them, or desiring them, or caring for them, but
only for exceeding the bounds of moderation in
certain waya
So we blame those who are moved by, or pursue,
some good and noble object to an unreasonable extent,
as, for instance, those who care too much for honour,
or for their children or parents : for these, too, are
noble objects, and men are praised for caring about
them ; but still one might go too far in them also, if
one were to fight even against the gods, like Niobe, or
to do as did Satyrus, who was nicknamed Philopator
from his affection for his father — for he seemed to
carry his affection to the pitch of folly.
In these matters, then, there is no room for vice
or wickedness for the reason mentioned, viz. that all
these are objects that are in themselves desirable ; but
excess in them is not commendable, and is to be
avoided
6 Similarly, in these matters there is no room for in-
continence [strictly so called] ; for incontinence is not
only to be avoided, but is actually blamable. But
because of the similarity of the state of mind we do
here use the term incontinence with a qualification,
saying *' incontinent in this or in that," just as we
apply the term " bad physician " or " bad actor " to a
• Supra, § 2; though there only two divisions are speoifiedg
Tiz. (1) necessary, (2) desirable bat admitting of exoess*
224 KIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bs. VIL
man whom we should not call bad simply or ■withoat
a qualifying epithet. Just as in the latter ease, then,
the term hadneas or vice is applied, not simply, but
with a qualification, because each of these qualities is
not a vice strictly, but only analogous to a vice, so in
this case also it is plain that we must understand
that only to be strictly incontinence (or continence)
which is manifested in those matters with which
temp3rance and profligacy are concerned, while that
which is manifested with regard to anger ia only
metaphorically called so ; and therefore we call a
man "incontinent in anger," as "in honour" or
gain," adding a qualiiying epithet.
S. While some things are naturally pleasant (of
which some are pleasant in themselves, others pleasaat
to certain classes of animals or men), other things,
though not naturally pleasant, come to be pleasant
(1) through organic injuries, or (2) through custom,
or again (3) through an originally bad natui-e . and
in each of these three classes of things a coiTespond-
ing character is manifested.
For instance [taking (3) first], there are the brutal
characters, such as the creature in woman's shape
that is said to rip up pregnant females and devour
the embryos, or the people who take delight, as si
of the wild races about the Black Sea are said to
take delight, in such things as eating raw meat or
human flesh, or giving thoir children to one another
to feast upon ; or, again, in such things as are reported.
of Phalaris,
These, then, are what we call brutal natures
[corresponding to (3) ] : but in other cases the dia-
ff, 1-6.] INCONTINENCE. 225
position is engendered by disease or madness ; for
instance, there was the man who slew and ate his
mother, and that other who devoured the liver of
his fellow-slave [and these correspond to (1)].
Other habits are either signs of a morbid state,
or the result of custom [and so come either under
(1) or under (2)]; e.g, plucking out the hair and biting
the nails, or eating cinders and earth, or, again, the
practice of unnatural vice ; for these habits sometimes
come naturally,* sometimes by custom, as in the case
of those who have been ill treated from their childhood.
Whenever nature is the cause of these morbid
habits, no one would think of applying the term
incontinence, any more than we should call women
incontinent for the part they play in the propagation
of the species ; nor should we apply the term to those
who, by habitual indulgence, have brought themselves
into a morbid statcf
Habits of this kind, then, fall without the pale
of vice, just as the brutal character does ; but when
a man who has these impulses conquers or is con-
quered by them, this is not to be called [continence
or] incontinence strictly, but only metaphorically,
just as the man who behaves thus in the matter
of his angry passions cannot be strictly called in-
* i.e. here " by disease : " i^^xris bears three different senses in
tlie space of a few lines — (1) in § l, beginning, natural = in aocord-
ance with the true nature of the thing, the thing as it ought to be ;
(2) in § 1, end, natural = what a man is bom with, as opposed to
sobseqnent modifications of this ; (3) in § 3 natural includes what
my body does by powers in it over which I have no control, e.g,
modifications of my nature produced by disease.
t Because incontinence is a human weakness; these acts are
brutal or morbid.
Q
/
226 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Vlf
continent. For even folly, and cowardice and pro-
fligacy, and ill temper, whenever they are carried
beyond a certain pitch, are either brutal or morbid.
When a man is naturally so constituted as to be 6
frightened at anything, even at the sound of a mouse,
his cowardice is brutal [inhuman] ; but in the well-
known case of a man who was afraid of a weasel,
disease was the cause. And of irrational human
beings, those who by nature are devoid of reason,
and live only by their senses, are to be called brutal,
as some races of remote barbarians, while those in
whom the cause is disease {e.g. epilepsy) or insanity
are to be called morbidly irrational.
Again, a man may on occasion have one of these 7
impulses without being dominated by it, as, for
instance, if Phalaris on some occasion desired to eat
the flesh of a child, or to indulge his unnatural lusts,
and yet restrained himself; and, again, it is possible
not only to have the impulse, but to be dominated
by it.
To conclude, then : as in the case of vice there is s
a human vice that is called vice simply, and another
sort that is called with a qualifying epithet " brutal ""
or " morbid vice " (not simply vice), so also it is plain
that there is a sort of incontinence that is called
brutal, and another that is called morbid incontinence,
while that only is caUed incontinence simply which
can be classed with human profligacy.
We have thus showii that incontinence and con- s
tinence proper have to do only with those things
with which profligacy and temperance have to do,
and that in other matters there is a sort of incon-
5, 6-6, 2.] INCONTIKEKCB. 227
tinence to which the name is applied metaphorically
and with a qualifying epithet.
L 6. The next point we have to consider is that Jneonth
incontinence in anger is less disgraceful than incon- biamia
tinence in appetite.
The angry passions seem to hear something of
what reason says, but to mis-hear it, like a hasty
servant who starts off before he has heard all you
are saying, and so mistakes his errand, or like a dog
that barks so soon as he hears a noise, without wait*
ing to find out if it be a friend. Just so our angry
passions, in the heat and haste of their nature, hear-
ing something but not hearing what reason orders,
make speed to take vengeance. For when reason or
imagination announces an insult or slight, the angry
passion infers, so to speak, that its author is to be
treated as an enemy, and then straightway boils up ;
appetite, on the other hand, if reason or sense do but
proclaim " this is pleasant," rushes to enjoy it. Thus
anger, in some sort, obeys reason, which appetite does
not. The latter, therefore, is the more disgraceful;
for he who is incontinent in anger succumbs in some
sort to reason, while the other succumbs not to reason,
but to appetite.
2 Again, when impulses are natural, it is more
excusable to follow them (for even with our appetites
it is more pardonable to follow them when they are
common to all men, and the more pardonable the
commoner they are) ; but anger and ill temper are
more natural than desire for excessive and unneces-
sary pleasures, as we see in the story of the man who
excused himself for beating his father. " He beat his
i
228 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. VII.
own father/' he said, '' and that father beat his, and
my son here," pointing to his child, "will beat me
when he is a man ; for it runs in the famUy." And
there is that other story of the man who was being
dragged out of the house by his son, and bade him
stop at the doorway; for he had dragged his own
' father so far, but no further. /
Again, the more a man is inclined to deliberate 3
malice, the more unjust he is. Now, the hot-tem-
pered man is not given to deliberate malice, nor is
anger of that xmderhand nature, but asserts itself
openly. But of appetite we may say what the
poets say of Aphrodite : " Craft- weaving daughter of
Cyprus ; " or what Homer says of her " embroidered
girdle,"
" Whose charm doth steal the reason of the wise." •
If then this incontinence be more unjust, it is more
disgraceful than incontinence in anger, and is to be
called incontinence simply, and a sort of vice.
Again, when a man commits an outrage, he does 4
not feel pain in doing it, but rather pleasure, while
he who acts in anger always feels pain as he is
acting. K then the acts which rouse the justest in-
dignation are the more unjust, it follows that incon-
tinence in appetite is more unjust [than incontinence
in anger] ; for such outrage is never committed in
anger.f
Thus it is plain that incontinence in appetite is 5
• XL, xiv. 214, 217.
f e.g. cmelty in the heat of battle rouses less indignation than
ill-treatment of women afterwards. For a similar reason profligacy
was said (III. 12) to be worse than cowardice.
e, 3-7.3 INCONTINENCE. 229
more disgraceful than incontinence in anger, and that
continence and incontinence proper have to do with
bodily appetites and pleasures.
6 But now let us see what differences we find in
these bodily appetites and pleasures.
As we said at the outset, some of them are human
and natural in kind and degree ; others are signs of
a brutal nature; others, again, are the result of_
oiganic injury or disease.
Now, it is with the first of these only that tem-
perance and profligacy have to do: and for this
reason we do not call beasts either temperate or
profligate, except it be metaphorically, if we find a
whole class of animals distinguished from others
by peculiar lewdness and wantonness and voracity ;
for there is no purpose or deliberate calculation in
what they do, but they are in an xmnatural state,
like madmen.
7 Brutality is less dangerous than vice, but more
horrible ; for the noble part is not corrupted here, as
in a man who is merely vicious in a human way, but
is altogether absent. To ask which is worse, then,
would be like comparing inanimate things with
animate : the badness of that which lacks the origi-
nating principle is always less mischievous; and
reason [which the brutal man lacks] is here the origi-
nating principle. (To compare these, then, would be
like comparing injustice with an unjust man : each
is in its own way the worse.*) For a bad man
* This comparison is rendered snperfluons by the preceding one
(which probably was meant to be snbstitnted for it), and is not very
apt as it stands. We should rather expect vphs rh &9ikov : the sense
wonld then be, *' injustice is morally worse than an unjust act which
[would do ten thousand times &a much harm as a
brute.
7. With regard to the pleasures and pains of touch
pitatuTc, and taste, and the corresponding deairea and aver-
poin. Two aiona, which we before marked out as the field of
inmntinonr. profligacj and temperance, it is possible to be so
B^iiita disposed as to succumb to allurements which most
people resist, or so as to rcaiat allurements to which
I moat people succumb. When they are exhibited in
the matter of pleasures, the former of these characters
is called incontinent and the latter continent ; when
they are exhibited in the matter of pains, the former
is called soft and the latter hardy. The character of
the general run of men falls between these two,
inclining perhaps rather to the worse.
But since some pleasures are necessary, while
others are not, and since the necessary pleasures a^e
I necessary in certain quantities only, but not in too
great nor yet in too small quantities, and since the
aame is true of appetites and of pains, he who pur-
sues pleasures that faU beyond the pale of legitimate
pleasures, or pursues any pleasures to excess,* is
called profligate, if he pursues them of deliberate
purpose for their own sake and not for any result
dooa not proceed from an onjnst character, bat the latter maj be a.
worse evil ;" e.g. humanity has Buffered more by woU-mBaning peiv
EBcotors than by the RreatoBt villainB. Cf. V. 11, 8.
• Tiiia diatinotion may he iLnstratod by the distinction which
opinion in England draws between opium-amokinB and tobacco- amofc.
ing^. Opinm. am along is comtnonly regarded by ua as u &wtp0o\ii, &■
a pleaanre that in any degree ia beyond the pale at legitiipata
pleaanrBB ; a man who is too mnoh given to tobaoco-B molting is
regariled as parsning «afl' !nrip&o\iis (in eioesa) a pleasora which in
jnodstBtioa is legitimate.
230 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLE. [Bk.
7, 1-5.] INOONTINENOJB. 231
which follows from tiiem ; * for such a man must be in-
capable of remorses-must be incurable therefore ; for
he who feels no remorse is incurabla In the opposite
extreme is he who falls short of the mean (while he
who observes the mean is temperate). So with the
man who avoids bodily pains, not because he is
momentarily overcome, but of deliberate purpose.
8 But those who act thus without deliberate pur-
pose may do so either to gain pleasure or to escape
the pain of desire, and we must accordingly distinguish
these from one another.
But all would allow that a man who does some-
thing disgraceful without desire, or with only a
moderate desire, is worse than if he had a violent
desire ; and that if a man strike another in cool blood
he is worse than if he does it in anger; for what
would he do if he were in a passion ? The profligate
joaan, therefore, is worse than the incontinent
Of the characters mentioned, then> we mu^
distinguish softness from profligacy.
4 The continent character is opposed to the incon-
tinent, . and the hardy to the soft ; for hardiness
implies that you endure, while continence implies
tiiat you overcome, and enduring is different from
overcoming, just as escaping a defeat is different
from winning a victory ; so continence is better than
haiijdiness.
5 But he that gives way to what the generality of
men can and do resist is soft and luxurious (for
luxury, too, is a kind of softness), — ^the sort of man
that suffers his cloak to trail along the ground rather
* Beading ci instead of fj.
/
/
/
232 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLK [Bk. VIL
•
than be at the pains to pull it up; that plays the
invalid, and yet does not consider himself wretched,
though it is a wretched man that he imitates.
Similarly with continence and incontinence. If 6
a man give way to violent and excessive pleasures or
pains, we do not marvel, but are ready to pardon him
if he struggled, like Pbiloctetes when bitten by the
viper in the play of Theodectes, or Cercyon in the
Alope of Carcinus ; or like people who, in trying to
restrain their laughter, burst out into a violent explo-
sion, as happened to Xenophantus. But we do
marvel when a man succumbs to and cannot resist
what the generality of men are able to hold out
against, unless the cause be hereditary disposition
or disease {e.g, softness is hereditary in the Scythian
kings, and the female is naturally softer than the
male).
The man that is given up to amusement is gene- 7
rally thought to bo profligate, but in fact he is soft ;
for amusement is relaxation, since it is a rest £rom
labour ; and among those who take too much relaxa-
tion are those who are given up to amusement.
There are two kinds of incontinence, the hasty and a
the weak. Some men deliberate, but, under the in-
fluence of passion, do not abide by the result of their
deliberations ; others are swayed by passion because
they do not deliberate ; for as there are people who
cannot be tickled if they are prepared for it, so there
are people who when they see what is coming, and
are forewarned and rouse themselves and their reason,
are able to resist the impulse, whether it be pleasant
or painful. People of quick sensibility or of a melan-
7, 6-8, 2.] INCONTINENCE. 233
cliolic temperament are most liable to incontinence of
the hasty sort ; such people do not wait to hear the
voice of reason, because, in the former case through the
rapidity, in the latter case through the intensity of their
impressions, they are apt to follow their imagination.
8. Again, a profligate man, as we said, is not given inconHnme
to remorse, for he abides by his deliberate purpose ; vnthmce
but an incontinent man is always apt to feel remorse.
So the case is not as it was put in one of the difficul-
ties we enumerated,* but the former is incurable, the
latter is curable. For full-formed vice [profligacy]
seems to be like such diseases as dropsy or consump-
tion, incontinence like epilepsy; for the former is
chronic, the latter intermittent badness.
Indeed, we may roundly say that incontinence is I
generically difierent from vice; for the vicious man
knows not, but the incontinent man knows, the nature .
of his acts.t
But of these incontinent characters, those who
momentarily lose their reason are not so bad as those
who retain their reason but disobey it; J for the latter
give way to a slighter impulse, and cannot, like the
former, be said to act without deliberation. For an
incontinent man is like one who gets drunk quickly
and with little wine, i,e, with less than most men.
• Of. supra, 2, 10, 11.
t The inoontinent man, when the fit is over and the better part
of him reasserts itself (c/. § 5) , recognizes the badness of his act *
bni the vicious man, thoagh he is aware that his acts are called bad, i
dissents from the judgments of societj (c/. 9, 7), and so ma,j be
said not to know : cf. III. 1, 12.
J The weak (ISur6fy€7s) are worse than the hasty (-rpoir) €Te"s : c/.
9upra, 7, 8.
234 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. VIL
We have seen that incontinenoe is not vice^ but 3
perhaps vre may say that it is in a Buomer vice. The
difference is that the vicious man acts with deliberate
purpose^ while the incontinent man acts against it
But in spite o( this difference their acts are similar ;
as Demodocus said against the Milesians^ ''The
Milesians are not fools, but they act like fools." So an
^continent man is not unjust, but he acts unjustly.
It is the character of the incontinent man to 4
pursue, without being convinced of their goodness,
bodily pleasures that exceed the bounds of moderation
and are contrary to right reason ; but the profligate
man is convinced that these things are good because it
is his character to pursue them : the former, then, may
be easily brought to a better mind, the latter not. For
virtue preserves, but vice destroys the principle ; but
in matters of conduct the motive [end or final cause]
is the principle [beginning or efficient cause] of action,
holding the same place here that the hypotheses do in
mathematics.* In mathematics no reasoning or de-
monstration can instruct us about these principles or
starting points ; so here it is not reason but virtue,
either natural or acquired by training, that teaches
us to hold right opinions about the principle of
action. A man of this character, then, is temperate,
while a man of opposite character is profligate.
But there is a class of people who are apt to be 5
momentarily deprived of their right senses by passion,
and who are swayed by passion so far as not to act
* i,e, the definitions j not the axioms, sinpe in Aristotle's
language a ivSdea'is, strictly speaking, inTolTes the assumption of
the existence of a corresponding object.
8, 8-9, 20 mCONTINENOE. 235
according to reason, but not so far that it has become
part of their nature to believe that they ought to
pursue pleasures of this kind without limit. These
are the incontinent, who are better than the profli-
gate, and not absolutely bad ; for the best part of our
nature, the principle of right conduct, still sui'vives in
them.
To these are opposed another class of people who
are wont to abide by their resolutions, and not to be
deprived of their senses by passion at least. It is
plain from this, then, that the latter is a good type of
character, the former not good.
9. Now, who is to be called continent ? he who cmtinence
abides by any kind oi reason and any kind of purpose, unence not
or he who abides by a right purpose ? And who is to u^ith keepit
be called incontinent? is it he who abandons einyingaTwu
kind of purpose and any kind of reason ? is even he
who abandons a false reason and a wrong purpose to
be called incontinent ? — a difficulty which we raised
before.* Is it not the case that though " accidentally "
it may be any kind, yet " essentially " it is a true
reason and a right purpose that the one abides by
and the other abandons ? For if you choose or pursue
A for the sake of B, you pursue and choose B
" essentially," but A " accidentally." But by " essen-
tially " {icaO' avTo) we mean "absolutely" or " simply*'.
{aw\big) ; so that we may say that in a certain sense
it may be any kind of opinion, but absolutely or
simply it is a true opinion that the one abides by ^
and the other abandons.
But there is another class of persons that are apt
236 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. VH.
to stick to their opinions (I mean those whom we caJl
stubborn or obstinate), because they are averse to per-
suasion and not readily induced to change their mind.
These bear some resemblance to the continent, as the
prodigal does to the liberal, and the foolhardy to the
courageous, but in many respects are different. For
it is changing his mind at the prompting of passion or
appetite that the continent man dislikes ; he is ready
enough on occasion to yield to reason : but it is to
reason especially that the obstinate man will not
listen, while he often conceives a passion^ and is led
about by his pleasures.
The opinionated, the ignorant, and the boorish are 3
all obstinate — the opinionated from motives of pleasure
and pain; for they delight in the sense of victory
when they hold out against argument, and are pained
if their opinion comes to naught like a decree that
is set aside. They resemble the incontinent man,
therefore, rather than the continent.
Sometimes also people abandon their resolutions 4
from something else than incontinence, as, for instance,
Neoptolemus in the Philoctetes of Sophocles. It may
be said, indeed, that pleasure was his motive in aban-
doning his resolution : but it was a noble pleasure ;
for truth was fair in his eyes, but Ulysses had persuaded
him to lie. For he who acts with pleasure for motive
is not always either profligate, or worthless, or in-
continent, but only when his motive is a base
pleasure.
Again, there are people whose character it is to 5
take too little delight in the pleasures of the body, and
who by reason of this character swerve from reason ;
9, 8-10, 1.] INCONTINENCE. 237
and between these and the incontinent come the con-
tinent For while the incontinent swerve from reason
because of an excess, and these because of a deficiency,
the continent man holds fast and is not turned aside
by the one or the other.
But if continence be a good things the characters
that are opposed to it must be bad, as in fact they
evidently are ; only, since the other extreme is found
but rarely and in few cases, incontinence comes to
be regarded as the only opposite of continence, just
as profligacy comes to be regarded as the only oppo-
site of temperance.
We often apply names metaphorically ; and so we
come to speak metaphorically of the continence of
the temperate man. For it is the nature both of the
continent and of the temperate man never to do
anything contrary to reason for the sake of bodily
pleasures ; but whereas the former has, the latter has
not bad desires, and whereas the latter is of such a
nature as to take no delight in wh^t is contrary to
reason, the former is of such a nature as to take
delight in, but not to be swayed by them.
The incontinent and the profligate also resemble
each other, though they are different; both pursue
bodily pleasures, but the latter pursues them on
principle,* while the former does not.
10. It is impossible for the same man to be at once Prudence u
^ nott but
prudent and incontinent : for we have shown that a cleverness is,
* ' compatible
man cannot be prudent without being at the same ^^^;^^
time morally good.
• Literally, -thinking that he onght {oUfievos 8e2y) ; ue. adopting
them as his end.
236 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Vlt
Moreover, a man is not made prudent by merely 2
knowing, but also by being apt to act, and the in-
continent man is not apt to act [as he resolves]. But
there is nothing to prevent a man who is clever at
calculating means from being incontinent; and so
people sometimes think a man prudent and yet in-
continent, because this cleverness is related to
prudence in the manner before * expla;ined, and as far
as reason goes they are closely allied, though they
differ in purpose.
V The incontinent man, however, has knowledge, 3
not as one who knows in the sense of using his know-
ledge, but as one may know who is asleep or drunk.
He acts voluntarily (for in a manner he knows
what he is doing and with what object), aad yet is
not bad : for his purpose is good ; so he is only half
bad. Moreover, incontinent men jwe not unjust,t for
they are not deliberately malicious-^some of them
being apt to swerve from their deliberate resolutions,
others of melancholic temper and apt to act without
deliberating at all. An incontinent man, then, may
be compared to a state which always makes excellent
decrees and has good laws, but never carries them
out ; as Anaxandrides jestingly says —
" So willed the state that takes no heed of laws."
The bad man, on the contrary, may be compared to a 4
state that carries out its laws, but has bad laws.
• Of. supra, VI. 12, 9.
t Though they do what is unjust or wrong. It must be remem-
bered that above (V. 1, 12-end) it was laid down that all vicious
action, when viewed in relation to others, is unjust (in the wider
sense of the term).
10, 2-11, 8.] OF PLEASURE. 239
Both incontinence and continence imply some-
thing beyond the average character of men ; for the
one is more steadfeust than most men can be, the other
less.
Of the several kinds of incontinence, that of the
melancholic temper is more curable than that of those
who make t^solutions but do not keep them, and that
which proceeds from custom than that which rests on
natural infirmity: it is easier to alter one's habit
than to change one's nature. For the very reason
why habits are hard to change is that they are a sort
of second nature, as Euenus says —
'* Train men bnt long enough to what 70a will,
And that shall be their nature in the end."
5 We have now considered the nature of continence
and incontinence, of hardiness and softness, and the
relation of these types of character to each other.
CHAPTEKS 11 — 14. OF PLEASURE.
11. The consideration of pleasure and pain also we mutt
falls within the scope of the political philosopher, «>^«*«.
since he has to construct the end by reference to «*»«*' *'•
which we call everything good or bad.
Moreover, this is one of the subjects we are bound
to discuss; for we said that moral virtue and vice
have to do with pleasures and pains, and most people
say that happiness implies pleasure, which is the
reason of the name fiwcipiog, blessed, from xafp^w, to
rejoice.
Now, (1) some people think that no pleasure is
240 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP AKISTOTLB. [Bk. VII.
good, either essentially or accidentally^ for they say
that good and pleasure are two distinct things ; (2)
others think that though some pleasures are good
most are bad; (3) others, again, think that even
though all pleasures be good, yet it is impossible that
the supreme good can be pleasure.
(1) It is argued that pleasure cannot be good, (a) 4
because all pleasure is a felt transition to a natural
state, but a transition or process is always generically
different from an end, e.g. the process of building is
genericaUy different from a house; (6) because the
temperate man avoids pleasures ; (c) because the pru-
dent man pursues the painless, not the pleasant ; (d)
because pleasures impede thinking, and that in pro-
portion to their intensity (for instance, the sexual
pleasures: no one engaged therein could think at all) ;
(e) because there is no art of pleasure, and yet every
good thing has an art devoted to its production ; (/)
because pleasure is the pursuit of children and brutes.
(2) It is argued that not aU pleasures are good, 5
because some are base and disgraceful, and even
hurtful; for some pleasant things are unhealthy.
(3) It is argued that pleasure is not the supreme
good, because it is not an end, but a process or
transition.
Anstoersto 12. Thcsc, then, we may take to be the current 1
J^iSr** opinions on the subject ; but that it does not follow
^amre. thcrefrom that pleasure is not good, or even the
tf^and highest good, may be shown as follows.
puamr'eMt In the first place, since "good" is used in two
but^iii^' senses ("good in itself" and "relatively good"),
nctivity. natures and faculties will be called good in two
11, 4-13, 2.] OF PLBASUBB. 241
senses, and so also will motions and processes : and
when they are called bad, this sometimes means that
they are bad in themselves, though for particular
persons not bad but desirable ; sometimes that they
are bad in themselves and not desirable even for
particular persons, though desirable occasionally and
for a little time ; while some of them are not even
pleasures, though they seem to be — I mean those that
involve pain and are used medicinally, such as those
of sick people.
In the second place, since the term good may be
applied both to activities and to faculties, those
activities that restore us to our natural faculties [or
state] are accidentally pleasant.
But in. the satisfaction of the animal appetites
that which is active is [not that part which is in
want, but] the rest of our faculties or of our nature ; *
for there are pleasures which involve no previous
pain or appetite, such as the activity of philosophic
study, wherein our nature is not conscious of any
want.
This is corroborated by the fact that while our
natural wants are being filled we do not take delight
in the same things which delight us when that process
has been completed : when the want has been filled (
we take delight in things that are pleasant ip them- '
selves, while it is being filled in their opposites ; for
we then take delight in sharp and bitter things, none ;
of which are naturally pleasant or pleasant in them- '
• Cf* ir^frat 14, 7. I have frequently in this chapter rendered
l|cs by facnlty, in order to express the opposition to iv^pyftOf actiyity
cr ezerciBe of faculty ; but no single word is satisfactory.
R
/
242 NICOMACHEAK iSTHIOS OP ABISTOTLK [Bk. TIL
selves. The pleasures, then, which these things give
are not real pleasures; for pleasures are related to one
another as the things that produce them.
Again, it does not necessarily follow, as some 3
maintain, that there is something else better than
pleasure, as the end is better than the process or
transition to the end : for a pleasure is not a transi-
tion, nor does it always even imply a transition ; but
it is an activity [or exercise of faculty], and itself an
end : further, it is not in becoming something, but in
doing something that we feel pleasure: and, lastly,
the end is not always something diflFerent from the
process or transition, but it is only when something is
being brought to the completion of its nature that
this is the case.
For these reasons it is not proper to say that
pleasure is a felt transition, but rather that it is an
exercise of faculties that are in their natural state,
substituting " unimpeded " for " felt."
Some people, indeed, think that pleasure is a
transition, just because it is in the full sense good,
supposing that the exercise of faculty is a transition ;
but it is in fact something different.*
To urge, again, that some pleasures are bad, because 4
some pleasant things are unhealthy, is like arguing
that some things that are healthy are bad for money
making. Both indeed are bad in this sense, but that
• The argument in foil would be thus : pleasure is good ; but
good is exercise of faculty {iv4pytia)f and this is a process or transi-
tion (yivtais) ; /, pleasure is a transition^ But according to
Aristotle the highest ivepytta involves no transition or motion at all
(c/. 14, 8), and in every true iv4py€iay even when a transition is in-
volvedf the end is attained at every moment. Cf, Met. iz. 6. 1048^
X2, 8-18, 1.] OP PLBASUBB, 243
does not make them bad in themselves : even philo-
sophic study is sometimes bad for one's health.
5 As to pleasure being an impediment to thinking,
the fact is that neither prudence nor any other faculty
is impeded by the pleasure proper to its exercise, but
by other pleasures ; the pleasure derived from study
and learning will make us study and learn more.
6 That there shoidd be no art devoted to the pro-
duction of any kind of pleasure, is but natural ; for
/ art never produces an activity, but only makes it
possible : the arts of perfumery and cookery, however,
are usually considered to be arts of pleasure.
7 As to the arguments that the temperate man
avoids pleasure, that the prudent man pursues the
painless life, and that children and brutes pursue
pleasure, they may all be met in the same way, viz.
thus : —
As we have already explained in what sense all
pleasures are to be called good in themselves, and in
what sense not good, we need only say that pleasures
of a certain kind are pursued by brutes and by chil-
dren, and that freedom from the corresponding pains is
pursued by the prudent man — ^the pleasures, namely,
that involve appetite and pain, i.e. the bodily pleasures
(for these do so), and excess in them, the deliberate
pursuit of which constitutes the profligate. These
pleasures, then, the temperate man avoids; but he
has pleasures of his own.
L 13. But all admit that pain is a bad thing and PUantre t
undesirable; partly bad in itself, partly bad as in«A«pka«*i
some sort an impediment to activity. But that which *« jj^
is opposed to what is undesirable, in that respect in ocuvUffU
244 NIOOMACHEAH ETmOS 0£* ABISTOTLB. [Bk. YIL
^good,^ which it is undesirable and bad^ is good. It follows,
uhS^^ then, that pleasure is a good thing. And this argu-
numt. ment cannot be met, as Speusippus tried to meet it,
miretnothj the aualogj of the greater which is opposed to
the equal as well as to the less; for no one would
say that pleasure is essentially a bad thing.*
V Moreover, there is no reason why a certain kind a
of pleasure should not be the supreme good, even
though some kinds be bad, just as there is no reason
why a certain kind of knowledge should not be,
though some kinds be bad. Nay, perhaps we ought
rather to say that since every formed faculty admits
of unimpeded exercise, it follows that, whether hap-
piness be the exercise of all these faculties, or of
some one of them, that exercise must necessarily be
most desirable when unimpeded: but unimpeded
exercise of faculty is pleasure : a certain kind of plea-
sure, therefore, will be the supreme good, even though
. most pleasures should turn out to be bad in themselves.
And on this account all men suppose that the
happy life is a pleasant one,, and that happiness in-
volves pleasure : and the supposition is reasonable ; for
no exercise of a faculty is complete if it be impeded ;
but happiness we reckon among complete things; and
so, if he is to be happy, a man must have the goods
of the body and external goods and good fortune,
in order that the exercise of his faculties may not
* The argument is, '' Pleasure is good because it is tlie opposite
of pain, which is evil.** " No," says Speusippus j " it is neither
pleasure nor pain, but the neutral state, which is opposite to both,
that is good." ** No/' replies Aristotle, '< for then pleasure wiU be
bad."
IS, 9-7.] OF FLEASUBE. 245
8 be impeded. And those who say that though a man
be put to the rack and overwhehned by misfortune,
he is happy if only he be good, whether they knowy^
it or not, talk nonsense. ^
I Because fortune is a necessary condition, some
people consider good fortune to be identical with
happiness ; but it is not really so, for good fortune
itself, if excessive, is an impediment, and is then,
perhaps, no longer to be called good fortune; for
good fortune can only be defined by its relation to
happiness.
5 Again, the fietct that all animals and men pursue
pleasure is some indication that it is in some way
the highest good :
''Not whollj loBt oan e*er that saying be
Which 108117 peoples share."
6 But as the nature of man and the best develop-
ment of his faculties neither are nor are thought
to be the same for all, so the pleasure which men
pursue is not always the same, though all pursue
pleasure. Yet, perhaps, they do in fact pursue a
pleasure different from that which they fancy they
pursue and would say they pursue — ^a pleasure which
is one and the same for aU. For all beings have
something divine implanted in them by nature.
But bodily pleasures have come to be regarded
as the sole claimants to the title of pleasure, because
they are oftenest attained and are shared by all ; these
then, as the only pleasures they know, men fancy to
be the only pleasures that are.
7 But it is plain that unless pleasure — ^that is, unim-
peded exercise of the faculties — ^be good, we can no
r
occidenlalti/
216 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. TIT.
longer say that the happy man leads a pleasant life ;
for why should he need it if it be not good 1 Nay,
he may just as well lead a painful life: for pain is
neither bad nor good, if pleasure be neither; so why
should he avoid pain ! The life of the good man,
then, would be no pleasanter than others unless the
exercise of hia faculties were pleasanter,
14. Those who say that though some pleasures
are very desirable — to wit, noble pleasures — the
pleasures of the body, with which the profligate is
concerned, are not desirable, should consider the
nature of these pleasures of the body. Why [if they
are bad] are the opposite pains bad ? for the opposite
of bad is good. Are we to say that the "necessary "
pleasures are good in the sense that what is not bad
ia good ? or are they good up to a certain point ?
Those faculties and those motions or activities
which do not admit of excess beyond what is good,*
do not admit of excessive pleasure ; but those which
admit of excess admit also of excessive pleaaore.
Now, bodily goods admit of excess, and the bad man
is bad because he pursues this excess, not merely
because he pursues the necessary pleasures ; for men
always take some delight in meat, and drink, and
the gratification of the sexual appetite, but not
always as they ought. But with pain the case is
reversed: not merely the excess of pain, but pain
generally is to be avoided ; f for the opposite of exces-
• VirbQons faculties and aotivities (II. 6, 20) do not admit
of oxceaa, bocanse liy Iheir very uatnre they are right and ooonpj
the mean ; too much of tbem wonid be s, contradiction in terma.
14, l-i.] OF PLEABUBE. 247
sive pleasure is not painful^ except to the man who
pursues the excess.*
But "we ought to state not only the truth, but
also the cause of the error ; for this helps to produce
conviction, as, when something has been pointed out
to us which would naturally make that seem true
which is not, we are more ready to believe the truth.
And so we must say why it is that the bodily
pleasures seem more desirable.
First of all, then, it is because of its efficacy in
expelling pain, and because of the excessiveness of
the pain to which it is regarded as an antidote, that
men pursue excessive pleasure and bodily pleasure
generally. But these remedies produce an intense
feeling, and so are pursued, because they appear in
strong contrast to the opposite pain.
(The reasons why pleasure is thought to be not
good are two, as we said befor§j_(l) some pleasures
are the manifestation of a nature that is bad either
from birth, as with brutes, or by habit, as with
bad men: (2) the remedial pleasures imply want;
and it is better to be in a [natural] state than in
a transition to such a state ; but these pleasures are
felt while a want in us is being filled up, and therefore
they are only accidentally good.t)
* Fain generally (p\tos) is bad, to be avoided.
Objection: The pain of foregoing certain excessive pleasnres
is not to be avoided.
Answer : The opposite of these excessive pleasnres, i.e, the fore-
going them, is not painfnl to the virtnons man, bnt only to him who
sets his heart npon them, i.e, to a vicious or incontinent man.
t As these words disturb the order of the arg^oment, I have,
following Bamsaner, pat them in brackets ; bat I see no sufficient
TOMon for regarding them as spnrions*
^1
V
248 NIOOMACHEAN ETHIGS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. YIL
Again, these pleasures are pursued because of 5
their intensity by those who are unable to take
delight in other pleasures ; thus we see people make
themselves thirsty on purpose. When the pleasures
they pursue are harmless, we do not blame them
(though when they are hurtful the pursuit is bad) ; for
they have no other sources of enjoyment, and the
neutral state is painful to many because of their
nature : for an animal is always labouring, as physical
science teaches, telling us that seeing and hearing is
labour and pain, only we are all used to it, as the
saying ia And thus in youth, because they are 6
growing, men are in a state resembling drunkenness ;
and youth is pleasant. But people of a melancholic
nature are always wanting something to restore their
balance; for their bodies are always vexing them
because of their peculiar temperament, and they are
always in a state of violent desire. But pain is ex-
pelled either by the opposite pleasure or by any
pleasure, if it be suflSciently strong ; and this is the
reason why such men become profligate and worthless.
But pleasures that have no antecedent pain do not
admit of excess. These are the pleasures derived from 7
things that are naturally and not merely accidentally
pleasant. I call those things accidentally pleasant that
have a restorative effect ; for as the restoration cannot
take place unless that part of the system which remains
healthy be in some way active, the restoration itself
seems pleasant : but I call those things naturally plea-
sant that stimulate the activity of a healthy system.*
• qf. «uj>r», IS, 2.
I am sick and take medioine, hangrj and take food (which
14, 6-a] OF FLEASUBEk 249
■
But nothing can continue to give us uninter-
rupted pleasure, because our nature is not simple,
but contains a second element which makes us mortal
beings ; * so that if the one element be active in any
way, this is contrary to the nature of the other
element, but when the two elements are in equili-
brium, what we do seems neither painful nor pleasant;
for if there were a being whose nature were simple,
the same activity would be always most pleasant to
him. And on this account God always enjoys one
simple pleasure; for besides the activity of move-
ment, there is also activity without movement, and
rest admits of truer pleasure than motion. But
change is "the sweetest of all things," as the poet
says, because of a certain badness in us : for just as
it is the bad man who is especially apt to change,
so is it the bad nature that needs change; for it
is neither simple nor good.
seems to be here included under medicine) ; but neither the drug
nor the food can of themselTes cure me and restore the balance of
my system — ^they must be assimilated (for the body is not like a jar
that can be filled merely by pouring water from another jar), i.e. part
of my system must remain in its normal state and operate in its
normal manner. But this operation, this ivipytia r^s Karh <p{Mriv t^eus,
is pleasure (by the definition given above, 12, 3), and in ignorance
of the process we transfer the pleasure to the medicine and call it
pleasant. The weakness of this account is that it overlooks the
fact that, though the medicine cannot itself cure without the
operation of rrjs Karh, (piariv c|€»f, yet on the other hand this c|ir,
this faculty, cannot operate in this manner without this stimulus ;
80 that there seems to be no reason why the medicine, as setting
up an iytpytia rrjs Kark ^{xriv U^tcos, should not itself be called ^{uru
ifil. But the whole passage rests on the assumption that there can
be activity without stimulus, i.e, without want — an assumption
which has become inconceivable to us.
♦ C/. X. 7, 8.
250 NICOHACHEAN ETHICS OF AHISTOTLE. [Bk^YIL
We have now considered continence and incon- p
tinence, and pleasure and pain^ and have explained
\7l1at each is, and how some of them are good and
some bad. It remains to consider friendship.
A
1 1. After the foregoing, a discnsaion of friendship
will naturally follow, aa it is a sort of virtue, or at '^'''^-;^
least implies vhiue, and is, moreover, most ne cessar y ai*"'' ^-^
to our life. For no one would caro to live without
friends, though he had all other good things. Indeed, I
it is when a man is rich, and has got power and
authority, that ho seems most of all to stand in need of i
friends ; for what is the use of all this prosperity if he |
have no opportunity for benevolence, which is most ',
frequently and most eommendably displayed towards ,
friends ? or how could hia position he maintained and i
preserved without friends ? for the greater it is, the |
2 more is it exposed to danger. In poverty and all
other misfortunes, again, we regard our friends as our |
only refuge. We need friends when we are young |
to keep us from error, when we get old to tend upon '
U3 and to carry out those plans which we have not ,
strength to execute ourselves, and in the prime of
life to help us in noble deeds — "two together" [aa
Homer says] ; for thus we are more efficient both in
thought and in action. 1
3 Love seems to be implanted by nature in the '
parent towards the ofispring, and in the ofTsprinE; '
L J
262 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk, yilL
towards the parent, not only among men, but also
among birds and most animals; and in those of the
same race towards one another, among men especially
— for which reason we commend those who love their
\ fellow-men. And when one travels one may see how
man is always akin to and dear to. man.
V Again, it seems that friendship is the bond that 4
holds states together, and that lawgivers are even
more eager to secure it than justice. For concord
bears a certain resemblance to friendship, and it
is concord that they especially wish to retain, and
dissension that they especially wish to banish as an
enemy. If citizens be friends, they have no nee d
of justice, but though they be just, they need friend-
ship or love also ; indeed, the completest realization
of justice * seems to be the realization of friendship
or love also.
Moreover, friendship is not only an indispensable, 5
but also a beautiful or noble thing : for we commend
those who love their friends, and to have many
friends is thought to be a noble thing; and some
even think that a good man is the same as a friend .f
But there are not a few diflFerences of opinion 6
about the matter. Some hold that it is a kind of
likeness, and that those who are like one another are
friends ; and this is the origin of *' Like to like," and
"Birds of a feather flock together," J and other similar
sayings. Others, on the contrary, say that " two of
a trade never agree." §
• r&y ZiKuiav rh fidkitrrOf «c, rh iTiUK4s : cf. V. 10, and VT; 11, 2.
t Cf. Plato, Eep., 334. J Literally, " Crow to crow."
§ LiteraUy, " saj that all who thus resemble one another are to
1, 4-2, IJ FRIENDSHIP OR LOVK 253
Others go deeper into these questions, and into
the causes of the phenomena ; Euripides, for instance
says —
** The parched earth loves the rain,
And the high heaven, with moistiire laden, loves
Earthwards to fall."
Heraclitus also says, "Opposites fit together," and
*'Out of discordant elements comes the fairest har-
mony," and " It is by battle that all things come into
the world." Others, and notably Empedocles, take
the opposite view, and say that like desires like.
7 Of these difficulties, all that refer to the constitu-
tion of the universe may be dismissed (for they do not
properly concern our present inquiry) ; but those that
refer to human nature, and are intimately connected
with man's character and affections, we will discuss
—as, for instance, whether friendship can exist in aU
men, or whether it is impossible for men to be friends
if ^ they are bad, and whether there be one form of
friendship or rather many. For those who suppose
that there is only one kind of friendship, because
it admits of degrees, go upon insufficient grounda
Things that differ in kind may differ also in degree
(But we have already spoken about this point.*)
1 2. Perhaps these difficulties will be cleared up i£j^reemoth
we first ascertain what is the nature of the lovable. «J"?- ^ ^ .
For it seems that we do not Jove anything y but*^***^-
only the lovable, and that the lovable is v.either'^-'
^good or p leasan t or useful, ^i But useful would appear
one another like potters," alluding to the saying of Hesiod,-^
Kal K€pafX€us Kepafxet kot^u koI tsktovi tc/ctwk —
'* Potter qoarrels with potter, and carpenter with carpenter.**
* See Bamsaner.
254 NIOOMACHEAK ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. Vm.
to mean that which helps us to get something good,
or some pleasure ; so that the good and the pleasant
only would be loved as ends.
Now, do men love what is good, or what is good a-
for themselves ? for there is sometimes a discrepancy
between these two.
The same question may be asked about the
pleasant.
It seems that each man loves what is _good_for
himself, and that, while^the good is lov able i n itse lf,
V that is lovable to each man which is good for him .
It may be said that each man loves not what is
really good for him, but what seems good for him.
But this wiU make no diflFerence ; for the lovable we
are speaking of will then be the apparently lovable.
The motives of love being thus threefold, the love 8
of inanimate things is not called friendship. For ^
there is no return of affection here, nor any wish for
the good of the object : it would be absurd to wish
well to wine, for instance ; at the most, we wish that
it may keep well, in order that we may have it.
But it is commonly said that we must wish our
friend's good for his own sake. One who thus wishes
the good of another is called a well-wisher, when the
wish is not reciprocated; when the well-wishing is ,-
mutual, it is called friendship.
But ought we not to add that each must be aware 4
of the other's well-wishing ? For a man often wishes
well to those whom he has never seen, but supposes
to be good or useful men ; and one of these may have
the same sentiments towards him. These two, then,
are plainly well-wishers one of another; but how
8, 3-3, 2.] FRIENDSHIP OB LOYB. 255
could one call them friends when each is unaware of
the other's feelings ?
V V In order to be friends, then, they must be well-
j wishers one of another, i.e. must wish each other s
■ good from one of the three motives above mentioned,
and be aware of each other's feelings.
1 3. But these three motives are specifically difierent Three kindt
from one another ; the several affections and friend- «m>, corre.
ships based upon them, therefore, wiU also be specific- rj£2f *"
ally different. The kinds of friendship accordingly Fer/eci
are three, being equal in number to the motives oiuhat whose
i* /»! iii'p imotive i»
• love; for any one of these may be the basis of ^thegoo<L
mutual affection of which each is aware.
Now, those who love one another wish each
other's good in respect of that which is the motive /
of their love. Those, therefore, whose love for one
another is based on the useful, do not love each v
"^ other for what they are, but only in so far as each
gets some good from the other.
It is the same also with those whose affection is
based on pleasure ; people care for a wit, for instance, h
not for what he is, but as the source of pleasure to
themselves.
% Thow, then, whose love is based on the useful care
^for each other on the ground of their own good, and
those whose love is based on pleasure care for each
other on the ground of what is pleasant to them-
selves, each loving the other, not as being what he is,
but as useful or pleasant.
These friendships, then, are "accidental ; " for the
object of affection is loved, not as being the person or
character that he is, but as the source of some good
256 NICOMAOHBAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Be. Vin.
or Bome pleasure. Friendships of this kind, therefor^, 3
are easily dissolved, as the persons do not continue \
unchanged ; for if they cease to be pleasant or useful ]
to one another, their love ceases. But the useful is
nothing permanent, but varies from time to time.
On the disappearance, therefore, of that which was the
motive of their friendship, the friendship itself is dis-
solved, since it existed solely with a view to that.
Friendship of this kind seems especially to be 4
found among elderly men (for at that time of life men
pursue the useful rather than the pleasant) and those
middle-aged and young men who have a keen eye to
what is profitable. But friends of this kind do not
generally even live together ; for sometimes they are
by no means pleasant (nor indeed do they want such
constant intercourse with others, unless they are use-
ful) ; for they make themselves pleasant only just so
far as they have hopes of getting something good
thereby.
With these friendships is generally classed the kind
of friendship that exists between host and guest.*
The friendship of young men is thought to be 5
< based on pleasure; for young men live by impulse,
and, for the most part, pursue what is pleasant to
themselves and what is immediately present. But
the things in which they take pleasure change as
they advance in years. They are quick to make ^
friendships, therefore, and quick to drop them; for
* A family of importance in a Greek state was nsuallj connected
by ties of hospitality with other families in other states : persons
so connected were not ipi\oi, not strictly friends, since they lived
apart; bat (4votf for whioh there is no Snglish equivalent.
8, 8-7J FBIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 257
their friendship changes as the object which pleases
'^^them changes ; and pleasure of this kind is liable to
rapid alteration.
^ Moreover, young men are apt to fall in love; for
/ love is, for the most part, a matter of impulse and
based on pleasure: so they fall in love, and again
soon cease to love, passing from one state to the
other many times in one day.
Friends of this kind wish to spend their time
together and to live together; for thus they attain
the object of their friendship.
6 YBut-the4)erfect kind of friendship is that of good
men who resemble one another in virtue. For they
both alike wish well to one another as good men,
and it is their essential character to be good men.
I And those who wish well to their friends for the
/friends' sake are friends in the truest sense ; for they
i have these sentiments towards each other as being
what they are, and not in an accidental way : their
friendship, therefore, lasts as long as their virtue, and
that is a lasting thing.
Again, each is both good simply and good to his
friend ; for it is true of good men that they are both
good simply and also useful to one another.
In like manner they are pleasant too; for good
men are both pleasant in themselves and pleasant to
one another : for every kind of character takes delight
in the acts that are proper to it and those that re-
semble these ; but the acts of good men are the same
or similar.
7 This kind of friendship, then, is lasting, as we
might expect, since it unites in itself all the con-
s
258 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. VHL
ditions of true firiendship. For every friendship has
for its motive some good or some pleasure (whether
it be such in itself or relatively to the person who
loves), and is founded upon some similarity: but
in this case all the requisite characteristics belong to
the friends in their own nature; for here there is
similarity and the rest, viz. what is good simply and
pleasant simply, and these are the most lovable
things : and so it is between persons of this sort that
the truest and best love and friendship is founi
/ It is but natural that such friendships £fhould be 8
uncommon, as such people are rare. Such a friend-
ship, moreover, requires long and familiar inter-
course. For, as the proverb says, it is impossible for
people to know one another till they have consumed
the requisite quantity of salt together. Nor can
they accept one another as friends, or be friends, till
each show and approve himself to the other as
worthy to be loved. Those who quickly come to 9
treat one another like friends may wish to be friends,
but are not really friends, unless they not only are
lovable, but know each other to be so ; a wish to be
friends may be of rapid growth, but not friendship.
This kind of friendship, then, is complete in
respect of duration and in all other points, and that
which each gets from the other is in all respects
identical or similar, as should be the case with fri^Kis.
'%eot*i€n^^ 4. The friendship of which pleasure is the motive i
J^tU^*^*' bears some resemblance to the foregoing; for good
men, too, are pleasant to each other. So also does
that of which the useful is the motive ; for good men
are useful also to one another. And in these cases.
8, 8-4, .3.] FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 259
too, the fiiendship is most likely to endure when that
which each gets from the other is the same {e.g.
pleasure), and not only the same, but arising from
the same source — ^a friendship between two wits, for
instance, rather than one between a lover and his be-
loved. For the source of pleasure in the latter case is
not the same for both : the lover delights to look upon
his beloved, the beloved likes to have attentions paid
him; but when the bloom of youth is gone, the
friendship sometimes vanishes also; for the one
misses the beauty that used to please him, the other
misses the attentions. But, on the other hand, they
frequently continue friends, i,e. when their inter-
course has brought them to care for each other's
characters, and they are similar in character.
Those who in matters of love exchange not pleasure
but profit, are less truly and less permanently friends.
The friendship whose motive is profit ceases when
the advantage ceases; for it was not one another
that they loved, but the profit.
For pleasure, then, or for profit it is possible even
for bad men to be friends with one another, and good
men with bad, and those who are neither with people
of any kind, but it is evident that the friendship in
which each loves the other for himself is only possible
between good men; for bad men take no delight in
each other unless some advantage is to be gained.
The friendship of good men, again, is the only one
that can defy calumny ; for people are not ready to
accept the testimony of any one else against him
whom themselves have tested. Such friendship also
implies mutual trust, and the certainty that neither
260 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. VIII.
would ever wrong the other, and all else that is im-
plied in true friendship; while in other friendships
there is no such security.
For since men also apply the term friends to 4
those who love one another for profit's sake, as hap-
pens with states (for expediency is thought to be the
ground on which states make alliances), and also to
those who love one another for pleasure's sake, as
children do, perhaps we too ought to apply the name
to such people, and to speak of several kinds of friend-
ship — ^firstly, in the primary and strict sense of the
word, the friendship of good men as such ; secondly,
the other kinds that are so called because of a resem-
blance to this : for these other people are called friends
in so far as their relation involves some element of
good, which constitutes a resemblance; for the pleasant,
too, is good to those who love pleasant things. But 5
these two latter kinds are not apt to coincide ; nor do
the same people become friends for the sake both of
profit and pleasure ; for such accidental properties
are not apt to be combined in one subject.
Now that we have distinguished these several 6
kinds of friendship, we may say that bad men will
be friends for the sake of pleasure or profit, resembling
true friends in this respect, while good men, when they
. are friends, love each other for what they are, i.e. as
good men. These, then, we say, are friends simply ;
the others are friends accidentally and so far as they
\ resemble these.
tercaurse 6* But just as with regard to the virtues we l
rS'.^ distinguish excellence of character or faculty from
^fup. excellence manifested, so is it also with friendship:
4, 4-6, 4] FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 261
when friends are living together, they take pleasure
in, and do good to, each other ; when they are asleep
or at a distance from one another, they are not acting
as friends, but they have the disposition which, if
manifested, issues in friendly acts ; for distance does
not destroy friendship simply, but the manifestation
of friendship. But if the absence be prolonged, it is
thought to obliterate even friendship ; whence the
saying —
y
\j " Full many a friendship hath ere now been loosed
By lack of converse."
Old men do not seem apt to make friends, nor
morose men ; for there is little in them that can give
pleasure : but no one can pass his days in intercourse
with what is painful or not pleasant ; for our nature
seems, above all things, to shun the painful and seek
the pleasant.
8 Those who accept each other's company, but do
not live together, seem to be rather well-wishers than
friends. For there is nothing so characteristic of
friendship as living together : * those who need help
seek it thus, but even those who are happy desire
company; for a solitary life suits them least of all
men. But people cannot live together unless they
are pleasant to each other, nor unless they take de-
light in the same things, which seems to be a neces-
sary condition of comradeship.
>--- The truest friendship, then, is that which exists
between good men, as we have said again and again.
•To a Greek, of course, this does not necessarily imply living
nnderthe «ajne roof, as it does to ns with our very different oon«
ditions of lif e.
262 NICOMACHBAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. \1IL
For that, it seems, is lovable and desirable which is
good or pleasant in itself, but to each man that which
is good or pleasant to him ; and the friendship of good
D^ien for one another rests on both these grounds.
But it seems that while love is a feeling, friend- 5
ship is a habit or trained faculty. For inanimate
things can equally well be the object of love, but
the love of friends for one another implies purpose,
and purpose proceeds from a habit prtramed faculty.
And in wishing well for their sakes to those they
love, they are swayed not by feeling, but by habit.
Again, in loving a friend they love what is good for
themselves; for he who gains a good man for his
friend gains something that is good for himself.
Each then, loves what is good for himself, and what
he gives in good wishes and pleasure is equal to
what he gets; for equality is friendliness, as they
say. All these characteristics, then, are found in the
>^ highest degree in the friendship of good men.
iposxibieto 6. Morose men and elderly men are less apt i
ivc many t/»»-i« • i ^ i_
uefriendt. to make fricuds in proportion as they are harsher
in temper, and take less pleasure in society; for
delight in society seems to be, more than anything
else, characteristic of friendship and productive of it.
So young men are quick to make friends, but not old
men (for people do not make friends with those who
do not please them), nor morose men. Such people
may, indeed, be well-wishers, for they wish each other
good and help each other in need; but they are by
no means friends, since they do not live with nor
delight in each other, which things are thought to be.
more than anything else, characteristic of friendship.
/
5, 5-6, 4.] FBIENDSmP OB LOVE. 263
2 It is impossible to have friendship, in the full
sense of the word, for many people at the same time,
just as it is impossible to be in love with many
persons at once ; for it seems to be something intense,
which may naturally be felt for one person, while it
is not easy for one man to find at one time many
very agreeable persons, perhaps not many good
3 ones. Moreover, they must have tested and become
accustomed to each other, which is a matter of great
difficulty. But in the way of profit or pleasure, it is
quite possible to find many * agreeable persons ; for
such people are not rare, and their services can be
rendered in a short time.
4 Of these other kinds, that which more nearly
resembles true friendship is that whose motive is
^easure, when each renders the same service to the
other, and both take pleasure in one another, or in
the same things, such as young men's friendships
are wont to be; for a generous spirit is commcmer
in them than in others. But the friendship whose
motive ia utility is the friendship of sordid souls.
Those who are happy do not need useful, but pleasant
fri^ids ; it is people to live with that they want, and
though they may for a short time put up with what
is painful, yet no one could endure anything con-
tinually, not even the good itself, if it were painful ^
to him; so they require that their Mends shall be
pleasant. But they ought, we may say, to require that
they shall be good as well as pleasant, and good for
them ; then all the characteristics of a friend will be
combined.
* Beading xoXAo^s.
264 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. Vlll.
^ People in exalted positions seem to make distinct 5
classes of friends. They have, some who are useful,
and others who are pleasant, but seldom any that
imite both these qualities; for they do not seek for
people who are at once agreeable and virtuous, or
people who can be useful to them in noble actions,
but they seek for witty persons to satisfy their
craving for pleasure, while for other purposes they
choose men who are clever at carrying out their
instructions: but these two qualities are seldom
imited in one person.
. The good man, indeed, as we have already said, 6
is both pleasant and useful ; but such a man does
not make friends with a man in a superior station,
unless he allows himself inferior in virtue :* only thus
does he meet the good man on equal terms, being
inferior in one respect in the same ratio as he is
superior in another. But great men are by no means
wont to behave in this manner.
In the friendships hitherto spoken of the persons 7
are equal, for they do the same and wish the same
for each other, or else exchange equal quantities of
different things, as pleasure for profit (We have
already explained that the latter less deserve the
name of friendship, and are less lasting than the
former kind. We may even say that, being at once
• Tile words tiv fi)j ical ry ipcr^ 6irip4xri'^cu literally ineaii ** unless
he also be snrpassed in virtne." Who is " he " P Not the former, for 6
CTov^cuoSf the ideally good man, oannot be snrpassed in virtne ; there,
fore the latter — the great man, the tyrant, kin^ or prince. The
whole passage displays a decided cmimv^ against princes (perhaps,
as Stahr suggests, a reminiscence of experiences in the Macedonian
court).
6, 6-7, 2.] FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 265
both like it and unlike it, they seem both to be and
not to be friendships. On the ground of their re-
semblance to the friendship that is based on virtue,
they seem to be friendships ; for one involves pleasure,
the other profit, both of which belong to true friend-
ship ; but, again, inasmuch as it is beyond calumny
and is lasting, while they are liable to rapid change
and diflferent in many other respects, they seem
not to be friendships because of their unlikeness
to it.)
7. But, besid3s these, there is aiiother land of ey/rim
friendship, in which the persons are unequal, as that tmequai
of a father for a son, and generally of an elder for satsrtdei
younger person, or of a man for a woman, or of a ¥^^^
rxilOT_ofany kmd Jot^ *^^^
These also are different from one another; for
that of parent for child is not the same as that of
ruler for subject, nor even that of father for son the
same as that of son for father, nor that of man for
woman the same as that of woman for man. For
each of t hese cl asses has a different excellence and a
different function, and the grounds of their affection
are differen t ; therefore their love and their friendship
also are different. What each does for the other, then,
is not the same, nor should they expect it to be the
same ; but when children give to their parents what
they owe to those who begat them, and parents give
to their sons what they owe to their children, then
such friendship wiU be lasting, and what it ought
to be. But in^all__friendships based on inequality,
the love on either side should be proportional — I
mean that the better of the two (and the more useful,
V-
266 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AKISTOTLB. [B«. VIII.
and BO on in each case) should receive more love than \
he gives; for when love is proportioned to de sert,
then there is established a sort of eq uality^ vhich
seems tobe a n^essary condition of friendship.
But there seems to be a difference between the 3
equality that prevails in the sphere of justice and
that which prevails in friendship : for in the sph ere
of justice the-primary Rftnse of /'e qual'* ror_ [[jair/'
Jcrov] is "proportionate to merit/* and "equal_jn
quantity" is only the secondary sen^ Jibut m friend-
ship "equal in quantity" is the primary, and "pro-
portionate to merit" the secondary sense.*
This is plainly seen in cases where there comes to 4
be a great distance between the persons in virtue, or
vice, or wealth, or in any other respect ; for they no
longer are, nor expect to be, friends. It is most
plainly seen in the case of the gods ; for they have
the greatest superiority in all good things. But it is
seen also in the case of princes ; for here also those
who are greatly inferior do not claim their friend-
ship ; nor do people of no consideration expect to be
friends with the best and wisest in the state. It is 5
impossible accurately to determine the limits within
which friendship may subsist in such cases: many
things may be taken away, and it may remain ; but
* The general rule of jnstice is that what different people re-
ceive is different, being proportionate to their respective merits (rh
/COT* i|(oi/ Xaovt or Mrris K6y(cv : c/. V. 8, 6, 5, 6 and 17) ; in exceptional
cases, when the merits of the persons are the same, what they receive
is eqnal {rh Kar* ii^lay becomes rh Karh, Tocrhv Xaov). Bnt friendship
in the primary sense is friendship between equals, so that the gfeneral
mle here is that both give and take equal amounts of love, etc. ; in
the exceptional case of inequality between the persons, the amounts
must be proportionate*
7, 3-8, 2.] PRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 267
again, if a person be very far removed, as Qod is, it
can no longer be.
6 This has suggested the objection that, after all, a
friend does not wish his friend the greatest of aU
goods, that he should become a god; for then he
would lose a friend — that is, a good ; for a friend is a
good thing. If then we were right in saying that a
friend wishes good to his friend for his (the friend's)
saJke, we must add, " the friend remaining what he
is: '* so far ad is compatible with his being a man, he
will wish him the greatest good — but perhaps not
everything that is goodT; for every man wishes good
I most of all to himself.
1 8. Most people seem, from a desire for honour, to (^
* * • — ami.
wish to be loved rather than to love, and on this '«»*•
account most men are fond of flatterers ; for a flatterer
is an inferior friend, or pretends to be so and to love
more than he is loved: but being loved is thought to
come near to being honoured, and that most mei
strive for,
2 But they seem to desire honour not for its own
sake, but accidentally : it is expectation that makes
most men delight in being honoured by those in
authority ; for they hope to get from them anything
they may want : they delight in this honour, there-
fore, as a token of good things to come. On the
other hand, those who desire the honour or respect of
good men and men who know, are anxious to confirm
th^ir own opinion of themselves ; they rejoice, thereA
fore, in the assurance of their worth which they
gain from confidence in the judgment of those who
declare it.
268 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Vllt.
But men delight in being loved for its own sake ;
wherefore it would seem that being loved is better
than being honoured, and that friendship is desirable
for its own sake.
Friendship, however, seems to lie in the loving, 3
rather than in the being loved. This is shown by the
delight that mothers take in loving ; for some give
their children to others to rear, and love them since
they know them, but do not look for love in return,
if it be impossible to have both, being content to see
their children doing well, and loving them, though
they receive from them, in their ignorance, nothing of
. what is due to a mother.
\/ , Since friendship Ues more in loving [than in being 4
loved], and since we praise those who love their
friends, it would seem that the virtue of a friend is
to love, so that when people love each other in pro-
\ portion to their worth, they are lasting friends, and
theirs is a lasting friendship.
This is also the way in which persons who are 5
unequal can be most truly friends ; for thus they will
make themselves equal : but equality and similarity
tend to friendship, and most of all the similarity of
"^ those who resemble each other in virtue; for such
men, being little liable to change, continue as they
were in themselves and to one another, and do not
ask anything unworthy of one another, or do any-
thing unworthy for one another — ^nay, rather restrain
one another from anything of the sort ; for it is charac-
teristic of a good man neither to go wrong himself,
nor to let his friend go wrong.
Bad men on the other hand [as friends] have no
8, 3-9, 1.] FBIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 269
stability : for they do not even continue like them-
selves; but for a short space they become friends,
rejoicing in each other's wickedness.
Those, however, who are useful and agreeable to
one another continue friends longer, i.e. so long as
they continue to furnish pleasure or profit.
The friendship whose motive is utility seems, more
than any other kind, to be a union of opposites, as of
rich and poor, ignorant and learned ; for when a man
wants a thing, in his desire to get it he will give
something else in exchange. And perhaps we might
include the lover and his beloved, the beautiful and
the ugly person, in this class. And this is the
reason why lovers often make themselves ridiculous
by claiming to be loved as they love; if they werej^
equally lovable they might perhaps claim it, but
when there is nothing lovable about them the claim
is absurd.
But perhaps nothing desires its opposite as such
but only accidentally, the desire being really for the
mean which is between the two ; for this is good.
For the dry, for instance, it is good not to become wet,
but to come to the intermediate state, and so with the
hot, and with the rest of these oppositea But we
may dismiss these questions; for, indeed, they are
somewhat foreign to our present purpose.
9. It seems, as we said at the outset, that the sub- bv^
ject-matter and occasion of friendship and of justice ^un/<m
are the same. Every community or association, it is ^ qfjustic)
thought, gives some occasion for justice, and also for aretummPi
friendship ; at least, people address as friends their ««^j/.
partners in a voyage or campaign, and so on with
270 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLB. [Bk. Vin.
other associations. To what extent soever they are
partners, to that extent is there occasion for friendship ;
for to that extent is there occasion for justice.
Moreover, " friends' goods are common property,"
says the proverb rightly ; for friendship implies com-
munity. Brothers, indeed, and comrades have all 2
things in common : other friends have certain definite
things in common, some more and some less; for
friendships also diflfer in degrea But what justice
requires is also diflferent in different cases ; it does not
require from parents towards children, for instance,
the same as from brothers towards one another, nor
from comrades the same as from fellow-citizens, and
so on through the other kinds of friendship.
Injustice also assumes different forms in these 3
several relations, and increases according to the
degree of friendship ; e.g. it is a grosser wrong to rob
a comrade than a fellow-citizen, and to refuse help to
a brother than to a stranger, and to strike one's father
than to strike any other man. The claims of justice,
in fact, are such as to increase as friendship increases,
both having the.same field and Rowing paH pasm.
But all kinds of association or community s^em to 4
be, as it were, parts of the political community or
association of citizens. For in all of them men join
together with a view to some common interest, and
in pursuit of some one or other of the things they
need for their life. But the association of citizens
seems both originally to have been instituted and to
continue for the sake of common interests; for this
is what legislators aim at, and that which is for the
common interest of aU is said to be just.
9, ^10, IJ FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 271
5 Thus all other associations seem to aim at some
particular advantage, e.g, sailors work together for a
successful voyage, with a view to making money or
something of that sort ; soldiers for a successful cam-
paign, whether tiieir ulterior end be riches, or victory,
or the founding of a state ; and so it is with the mem-
bers of a tribe or a deme. Some associations, again;
seem to have pleasure for their object, as when men
join together for a feast or a club dinner; for the
object here is feasting and company. But all these
associations seem to be subordinate to the associa-
tion of citizens ; for the association of citizens seems
to have for its aim, not the interests of the moment,
but the interests of our whole life, even when its
members celebrate festivals and hold gatherings
on such occasions, and render honour to the gods,
and provide recreation and amusement for them-
selves.* For the ancient festivals and assemblies
seem to take place after the gathering in of the harvest,
being of the nature of a dedication of the first-fruits,
as it was at these seasons that people had most
leisure.
6 All associations, then, seem to be parts of the
association of citizens; and the several kinds of w ,^
friendship will correspond to the several kinds of
association.
1 10. Now, of constitutions there are three kinds, and ?/ <^« ^»'««
forms oi
an equal number of perverted forms, which are, so to consutuium
speak, corruptions of these. Constitutions proper are
kingly government and aristocracy ; and, thirdly, there
* It is the institntion of the state whioh gives a permanent
eignificance to these amusements of a daj.
/
I
I
\
272 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. VIIL
is a form of government based upon an assessm ent p f
property^ which should strictly be called timocracy,
though most people are wont to speak of it as consti-
tutional government simply.
Of these, kingly ^gov^riment _is_.t-hft hftfftf »^<^
timocracy the worst. The perversion of kingly
government is tyranny: both are monarchies, but
there is a vast difference between them; for the tyrant
seeks his own interest, the king seeks the interest of
> his subjecta For he is not properly a kin g who is
\ not self-sujS5cient and superabundantly furnished with
all that is good ; such a man wants nothing more; his
own advantage, then, will not be his aim, but that of
his subjects. A man of another character than this
could only be the sort of king that is chosen by
lot.*
Tyranny is the opposite of kingly rule, because
the tyrant seeks his own good ; and of this govern-
ment it is quite obvious f that it is the worst of all :
we may add that the opposite of the best must be
the worst.
Kingly government degenerates into tyranny ; for
tyranny is a vicious form of monarchy : the bad
king, then, becomes a tyrant.
Aristocracy degenerates into oligarchy through
the vice of the rulers, who, instead of distributing
public property and honours according to merit, take
all or most of the good things for themselves, and
give the offices always to the same people, setting
the greatest store by wealth ; you have, then, a small
* As tlie lipx»v PaffiXe^s at Athens.
t Lit. " more evidont," sc. than that kingly rule is the best.
\
k
10, 2-5J FRIENDSHIP OB LOVK 273
number of bad men in power, in place of the best
ymen.
Lastly, timo<aa(5L.dege.nerates into democracy:
and -indeed they border closely upon each other ; for
even timocracy is intended to be government by the ^
\ multitude, and all those who have the property
qualification are equal,
y Democracy is the least bad [of the corrupt forms'],
for it is but a slight departure from the correspond-
ing form of constitution.
These, then, are the ways in which the several
constitutions are most apt to change; for these are
the directions in which the change is slightest, and
encounters the least resistance.
4 Likenesses of these forms of government and pat-
terns of them, so to speak, may be found in families.
For instance, the association of father and sons has
the form of kingly rule ; for the father cares for his
children. This, also, is the reason why Homer ad-
dresses Zeus as father ; for kingly government aims
at being a paternal government. But in Persia the
association of father and son is tyrannical; for fathers
there use their sons as slaves. The association of
master aAd slave is also tyrannical; for it is the
interest of the master that is secured by it. But
this seems to be a legitimate kind of tyranny, while
the Persian kind seems to be wrofag ; for different ^
beings require different kinds of government.
5 The association of man and wife seems to be
aristocratic : for the husband bears rule proportionate
to his worth, i.e. he rules in those matters which are
his province; but he entrusts to his wife those matters
T
274 NICOMAOHBAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. VIIL ,
that properly belong to her. But when the man
lords it in aU things, he perverts this relation into
an oligarchioal one ; for he then takes rule where he
is not entitled to it, and not only in those matters
in which he is better. Sometimes, on the other
hand, the wife rules because she is an heiress. In
these cases authority is not proportionate to merit,
but is given on the ground of wealth and influence,
^ust as in oligarchies.
The association of brothers resembles a timocracy; 6
for they are equal except in so far as they differ in
age. On this account, if they differ very widely in
age, their friendship can no longer be a brotherly
friendship.
A democratic form of association is chiefly found
in those households which have no master (for there
\ all are on a footing of equality), or where the head
of the house is weak, and every one does what he
likes.
ofthec<>r- 11. In each of these forms of government friend- i
ft^^f^ ship has place to the same extent as justice. In the
^ ^* first place, the king shows his friendship for his
subjects * by transcendent benefits ; for he does good
to his subjects, seeing that he is good, and tends them
with a view to their welfare, as a shepherd tends his
sheep, — whence Homer calls Agamemnon "shepherd
of peoples." 4.UQ- ' '0>-^ U*^i ?
The friendship of a father fcr his child is of a 2
similar kind, though the benefits conferred are still
greater. For the father is the author of the child's
existence, which seems the greatest of aU benefits,
• Scarcely consistent with 7, 4; but ef, 7, U
10, 6-11, 6.J FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 275
and of his nurture and education; and we also
ascribe these to our forefathers generally : and thus
it is in accordance with nature that fathers shoiddJ^
rule their children, forefathers their descendants,
kings their subjects.
3 These fiiendships involve the superiority of one
side to the other ; and on this account parents receive
honour as well [as service].* Moreover, what justice
requires here is not the same on both sides, but that
/ I which is proportionate to their worth ; for this is the
' rule of fiiendship also [as well as of justice].
4 The friendship, again, of man and wife is the same
as that which has place in an aristocracy ; for both
benefit in proportion to their merit, the better getting
more good, and each what is fitting ; but this is the
rule of justice also.
6 The friendship of brothers resembles that of com-
rades, for they are equal and of like age ; but those
with whom that is the case for the most part have
the same feelings and character. And the friendship
in a timocracy is of the same type as this; for the
citizens here wish to be equal and fair ; so they take
office in turn, and share it equally : their friendship,
then, will follow the same rule,
6 In the corrupt forms, as there is but little room
for justice, so there is but little room for fiiendship,
and least of all in the worst ; in a tyranny there is
I little or no friendship. For where ruler and subject
have nothing in common, there cannot be any friend-
* We pay taxes to the king, and tend our parents in their old
age ; but, as this is no adequate repayment of what they have done
for ms, we owe them honour besides.
276 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Vni.
ship, any more than there can be any justice. But
here the relation is like that of a workman to his
tools, or of the soul to the body, or of master to slave.
The tools and the body and the slave are all benefited
by those who use them; but our relations with in-
animate objects do not admit of friendship or justice ;
nor our relations with a horse or an ox; nor our
relations with a slave as such. For there is nothing
in common between master and slave. The slave is
/a living tool ; the tool is a lifeless slave. As a slave,
' then, his master's relations with him do not admit
of friendship, but as a man they may: for there
seems to be room for some kind of justice in the
relations of any man to any one that can participate
in law and contract, — and if so, then for some kind of
friendship, so far, that is to say, as he deserves the
name man.
/ And so friendships and justice are found to some
small extent even in tyrannies, but to a greater
extent in democracies than in any other of the
corrupt forms; for there the citizens, being equal,
have many things in common.
%S1mx f ^^* ^^ friendship, as we have already said, implies
^•Mmen and associatiou ! but wc mav separate from the rest the
friendship of kinsmen and that of comrades. The
friendships of fellow-citizens, of fellow-tribesmen, of
fellow-sailors, eta, seem, as opposed to these, to have
more to do with association; for they appear to be
founded upon some sort of compact. The friendship
of host and guest might also be included in this class.
Kinsmen's friendship seems to include several
species, but to be dependent in aU its forms upon the
11, 7-12, 4] FBIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 277
friendship of parent and child. For parents love
their children as part of themselves; children love
their parents as the source of their being. But
parents know their children better than the children
know that these are their parents, and that which gives
birth is more closely attached to that which proceeds
from it, than the oflFspring is to that which gave it
life : for that which proceeds from us belongs to us,
as a tooth or a hair, or anything of that sort, to its
owner ; but we do not belong to it at all, or belong
to it in a less degree.
Again, there is a difference in respect of time;
for parents love their offspring from the moment of
their birth, but children love their parents only after
the lapse of time, when they have acquired under-
standing or sense.
These considerations also show why mothers love
/ their children more than fathers do.
8 Parents, then, love their children as themselves
(for what proceeds from them is as it were a second
self when it is severed), but children love their parents
as the source of their being, and brothers love each
\ other because they proceed from the same source : for
the identity of their relation to this source constitutes
an identity between them; so that they say that
they are of the same blood and stock, etc. And so
they are in a way identical, though they are separate
persons,
4 But friendship between brothers is greatly ftur-
thered by common nurture and similarity of age ; for
those of the same age naturally love one another, as
the saying is, and those who are used to one another
/
278 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. Vin.
naturally make comrades of one anotlier, so that the
friendship of brothers comes to resemble that of
comrades.
Cousins and other kinsfolk become attached to^\
each other for the same reason — I mean because they ^
come of the same stock. But the attachment is more
or less close according to the nearness or remoteness
of the founder of the family. '
The friendship of children for their parents (like 5
that of men for the gods) is friendship for what is
good and superior to themselves, as the source of the
greatest benefits, namely, of their life and nurture,
and their education from their birth upwards.
Friendship of this kind brings with it more, both 6
of pleasure and profit, than that of strangers, in pro-
portion as there is more community of life.
The friendship of brothers has all the character-
istics of the friendship of comrades, and has them in
a greater degree (provided they are good and generally
resemble one another) inasmuch as they belong more
to one another and love each other from their birth
up, and have more similarity of character, as being
of the same stock and brought up together and
educated alike ; moreover, they have had the longest
and the surest experience of one another.
In all other kinsmen's friendships the same ele- 7
ments will be found in proportion to the relationship,
r The friendship of man and wife seems to be
natural ; for human beings are by nature more apt to
join together in couples than to form civil societies,
inasmuch as the family is prior in time to the state
and more indispensable, and the propagation of the
/
12, 5-13, Ij PBIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 279
species is a more fundamental characteristic of animal
existence. The other animals associate for this purpose
alone, but man and wife live together not merely for
the begetting of children, but also to satisfy the needs
of their life : for the functions of the man and the
woman are clearly divided and distinct the one from
the other ; they supply each other's wants, therefore,
both contributing to the common stock. And so this
sort of friendship is thought to bring with it both
pleasure and profit* But it will be based on virtue,
too, if they be good ; for each sex has its own virtue,
and both will rejoice in that which is of like nature.
Children also seem to be a bond that knits man
and_jwife together (which is a reason why childless
unions are more quickly dissolved) ; for children are
a good which both have in common, but that which
people have in common holds them together.
8 To ask on what terms a man should live with his
wife, and generally friend with friend, seems the same
as to ask what justice requires in these cases; for
what is required of a man towards his friend is
difierent from what is required of him towards a
stranger, a comrade, or a travelling companion.
1 13^ There are three kinds of friendship, as we said of the t
at the outset, and in each kind there are both equal dimige
and unequal friendships ; I mean that sometimes two ^Hc^w
equally good persons make friends, and sometimes a/riend«i
better and a worse (and so with those who are
pleasant to one another, and with those who are
friends with a view to profit) — eflecting equality by
the services they exchange, even though they are
themselves difierent.
280 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. Vin.
{Now, those who are equal should effect equality
by loving one another, etc., equally, but those who are
unequal should effect equality by making what each
renders proportionate to the greater or less merit o,
the other.
\J But accusations and reproaches arise solely or
mostly in friendships whose motive is profit, as wi
should expect. For those whose friendship istJbSsed
on virtue are eager to do good to each other ; for this
is the office of virtue and friendship. And between
people who are thus vieing with one another no
accusations or quarrels can arise ; for a man cannot
be embittered against one who loves him and does
him a service, but, if he be of a gracious nature,
requites him with a like service. But the superior
wiU not reproach his friend, since he gets what he
desires; * for each desires what is good.
u Such quarrels, again, are not apt to arise in fidend- 3
ships whose motive is pleasure ; for both get at the
same time that which they desire, if they delight in
each other's company ; but if one were to accuse the
other for not being agreeable to him, he would make
himself ridiculous, seeing that he was under no
compulsion to associate with him.
V . But the friendship whose motive is utility is 4
fruitful in accusations ; for as the friends here use
each other solely with a view to their own advantage,
each always wants the larger share and thinks he has
less than his due, and reproaches the other with not
doing for him so much as he requires and deserves ;
though, in truth, it is impossible for the one who
* For lie desires the good of his friend.
13, 2-8.] FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 281
is doing a service to supply all that the other
wants.
6 As the rules of justice are twofold, the unwritten
and those that are set down in laws, so the friendship
whose motive is profit is of two kinds — one resting on
disposition, the other on contract. And accusations
are most apt to arise when the relation is understood
in one sense at the commencement, and in the other
sense at the conclusion.
6 That which rests on contract is that in which
there are specified conditions, and it is of two kinds :
one is purely commercial, on the principle of cash
payments ; the other is less exacting in point of time,
though in it also there is a specified quid pro quo.
In the latter case, what is due is evident and can-
not be disputed, but there is an element of fiiendliness
in the deferment of payment; for which reason, in
some states, there is no recovery by law in such cases,
but it is held that when a man has given credit he
must take the consequences.
7 That which rests on disposition has no specified
conditions, but one gives another presents (or what-
ever else it may be) as a friend. But afterwards he
claims as much or more in return, regarding what he
8 gave not as a gift, but as a loan. And thus, wishing
to terminate the relation in a diflferent spirit from
that in which he entered upon it, he will accuse the
other.* And this is apt to happen because all or nearly
* In the papers of October 8, 1880, a suit is reported in which A
tries in vain to recover from B certain goods given during court-
ship, — according to B as presents, according to A lirl ^tois, viz,
_ 2 on condition of marriage, which condition had not been fulfilled.
282 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk, VHI.
all men, though they wish for what is noble, choose
what is profitable ; and while it is noble to do a good
service without expecting a return, it is profitable to
receive a benefit.
In such cases, then, we should, if we have the 9
power, make an equivalent return for benefits_rfir
ceived, even if there be no necessity to do so ; for we
must not treat a man as a friend if he does_not wish
it. We shoidd consider that we made a mistake
at the beginning, and received a benefit from a person
from whom we ought not to have accepted it — ^for he
was not a friend and did not act disinterestedly —
and so we ought to terminate the relation in the
same way as if we had received a service for a stipu-
lated consideration. But the stipulation would only
be to repay if we have the power ; if we have it not,
even the donor would not claim repayment : so we
may fairly say that we should repay if we have the
power.
But we ought at the outset carefully to consider
who it is that is doing us a service, and on what
understanding, so that we may accept it on that
imderstanding or else reject it.
It is a debatable question whether the requital lo
is to be measured by, and to be made proportionate
to, the value of the service to the recipient or to
the benefactor. For the recipients are apt to say
that they received what was but a small matter to
their benefactors, and what they might just as well
have got from others, depreciating the service done
them ; but the others, on the contrary, are apt to say
that what they gave was the best they had, and what
13, 9-14, IJ FBIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 283
could not be got from any one else, and that it was
given in a time of danger or on some other pressing
occasion.
Perhaps we may say that, if the friendship have
profit for its motive, the benefit received should be
taken as the measure ; for it is the recipient who asks
a service, which the other renders in expectation of an
equal service in return : the amount of the assistance
rendered, then, is determined by the extent to which
the former is benefited, and he shoidd repay as much
as he received, or even more; for that would be the
nobler course.
In friendships based on virtue, on the other hand,
such accusations do not occur, but it woidd seem that
the measure of the service is the purpose of him who
does it ; for virtue and moral character are determined
by purpose.
14. Quarrels occur also in unequal friendships; for oftheiaiM
sometimes each claims the larger share, but when this/ri^Mjw.
happens the friendship is dissolved. For instance, the
better of the two thinks he ought to have the larger
share ; " the good man's share is larger," he says •.
the more useful of the two makes the same claim ; " it
is allowed," he says, " that a useless person should not
share equally; for friendship degenerates into gra-
tuitous service imless that which each receives from
the friendship be proportionate to the value of what
he does." For such people fancy that the same rule
should hold in friendship as in a commercial partner-
ship, where those who put in more take a larger
share.
Thft needy man and the inferior man argue in the
284 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. VIH.
contrary way ; " it is the office of a good friend," they
say, " to help you when you are in need ; for what is
the use of being friends with a good man or a
powerful man, if you are to get nothing by it ? '*
It seems that the claims of both are right, and 2
that each ought to receive a larger share than the
other, but not of the same things — ^the superior more
honour, the needy man more profit ; for honour is the
tribute due to virtue and benevolence, while want
receives its due succour in the pecuniary gain.
This seems to be recognized in constitutions too : 3
no hono ur is paid to him who contributes nothing to
the common stock of good; the common stock is
distributed among those who benefit the community,
and of this common stock honoiir is a part. For he
who makes money out of the community must not
expect to be honoured by the community also ; and
no one is content to receive a smaller share in every-
thing. To him, then, who spends money on public
objects we pay due honour, and money to him whose
services can be paid in money; for, by giving to each
what is in proportion to his merit, equality is eflFected
and friendship preserved, as we said before.
The same principles, then, must regulate the inter-
course of individuals who are unequal ; and he who is
benefited by another in his purse or in his character,
must give honour in return, making repayment in
that which he can command. For friendship exacts
what is possible rather than what is due : what is
due is sometimes impossible, as, for instance, in the
case of the honour due to the gods and to parents ;
for no one coidd Qver pay all his deb^ to them ; but
14, 2, 3.] FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 285
he who gives them such service as he can command
is held to fulfil his obligation.
For this reason it would seem that a man may
not disown his father, though a father may disown
his son ; for he who owes must pay : but whatever
a son may do he can never make a full return for
what he has received, so that he is always in debt.
But the creditor is at liberty to cast off the debtor ;
a father, therefore, is at liberty to cast off his son.
But, at the same time, it is not likely that any
one would ever disown a son, unless he were a very
great scoundrel ; for, natural affection apart, it is but
human not to thrust away the support that a son
would give. But to the son, if he be a scoundrel,
assisting his father is a thing that he wishes to avoid,
or at least is not eager to undertake ; for the gene-
rality of men wish to receive benefits, but avoid
doing them as unprofitable. So much, then, for these
questions.
BOOK IX
FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE — Continued.
o{^^^^%m ^' ^^ ^^ dissimilar friendshigs * it is proportionate 1
f!-^dshi^^ exchange that maintains equalit y and preserves the
friendship (as we have already said), just^ as fiTIQie
association of citizens, where the shoemaker, in~ex-
change for his shoes, receives some return propor-
tionate to his desert, and so on with the weaver and
the rest.
Now, in these latter cases, a common measure 2
is supplied by money; money is the standard to
which everything is referred, and by which it is
measured.
In sentimental friendships, on the other hand, the
lover sometimes complains that while he loves ex-
cessively he gets no love in return, although, maybe,
there is nothing lovable about him ; often the beloved
complains that whereas the other used to promise
eveiything, he now performs nothing.
Complaints of this sort are wont to arise when, 3
pleasure being the motive of the friendship witihime
person and profit with the other, they do not both get
what they want. For the friendship, being based on
* Where the two friends have different motives.
1, 1-6.] FEIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 287
these motives, is dissolved whenever they fail to obtain
that for the sake of which they made friends ; for it
was not the other's self that each loved, but only
something which he had, and which is not apt to
endure; for which reason these friendships also are
not apt to endure. But friendship based on character,
being pure, is likely to last, as we said.
~^ Sometimes, again, friends quarrel when they find
they are getting something different from what they
want ; for failing to get what you want is like getting
nothing. This may be illustrated by the story of the
harper: a man promised him that the better he
played, the more he should receive; but when, as
dawn drew near, the harper claimed the fulfilment
of his promise, the other replied that he had already
paid him pleasure * for pleasure. Now, if this was
what both wished, there would be nothing more to
say : but if the one wanted pleasure and the other
profit, and the one has what he wants, while the
other has not, the bargain will not be fairly carried
out; for it is what a man happens to want that he
sets his heart on, and consents for the sake of it to
render this particular service.
But whose bu siness is it to fix the value of the
service ? his who first gives, or rather, iia who first
receives? — ^for he who first gives seems to leave it
to the other. This, they say, was the custom of
Protagoras : when he had been giving lessons in any
subject, he used to tell his pupil to estiipiate the value
of the knowledge he "had acquired, and so much he
would take.
^.^^ ♦ Viz. the pleasure of anticipation.
288 NICOMACHBAN ETfflOS OF ABISTOtLK. [Bk. K.
Some^ however, think the rule shotdd be, "Let a 6
friend be content with his stated wage." *
But if a man, after being paid in advance, fulfils
none of his engagements, because he had promised
more than he could perform, he is rightly held charge-
able; for he does not fulfil his contract. But the 7
sophists, perhaps, are compelled to adopt this plan [of
payment in advance]; for otherwise no one would
give anything for what they know.
He, then, who fails to do that for which he has
already been paid, Is rightly chargeable. But wh en
there i s no express agreement about the service
rende red, (a) when one voluntarily helps another for
that q tiier's sake, no accusation can arise, as we said :
for^this is the guajbiLre of friendship^ based o n vut ue.
The return must here be regulated by the purpose
of him who renders the first service ; for it is purpose
that makes both friend and virtue. The same rule
would seem to apply also to the relations of a philo-
sopher and his disciples; for desert cannot here be
measured in money, and no honour that could be paid
him would be an adequate return ; but, nevertheless,
as in our relations to gods and parents, the possible
is accepted as sufficient, (b) If, however, the first 8
gift has been made, not in this spirit, but on the under-
standing that there shall be some return, the return
should, if possible, be such as both deem proportionate
to desert: but if this cannot be, it would seem to
be not only necessary, but just, that the recipient of
the first benefit should assess it ; for whatever be the
amount of the advantage he has received, or whatever
* fiiadhs 8* &v9p\ <f>l\q> €iprifi4yos UpKios tarco. — Hesiod.
1, 6-2, 2.1 FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 289
he would have been willing to give for the pleasure,
the other, in receiving the same amount, will receive
as much as is due from him. For even in sales this
9 is plainly what takes place ; and in some states there
is no recovery by law in voluntary contracts, as it
is held that when you have given a man credit, you
must conclude your bargain with him in the same
spirit in which you began it. It is held to be fairer J
that the service should be valued by him who is/
trusted than by him who trusts. For most things
are differently valued by those who have them and
by those who wish to get them : what belongs to us,
and what we give away, always seems very precious
to us. Nevertheless, the return to be made must be
measured by the value which is set upon the service
by the receiver. But j>erha ps he ought to put it, not
at what it seems to be worth when he has got it, but
atihe value Te set upon it before he had it.
1 2. There are some further questions that here o/m
suggest themselves, such as whether the father's duOM,
claims to service ought to be unlimited, and the son
should obey him in everything, or whether in sick-
ness he should obey the physician, and in the election
of a general should choose him who is skilled in
war ; and, similarly, whether one ought to help one's
friend rather than a good man, and repay a benefactor
^ rather than make a present to a comrade, if one
cannot do both.
•2 We may, perhaps, say that to lay down precise
rules for all such cases is scarcely possible ; for the
different cases differ in all sorts of ways, according
to the importance or unimportance, the nobility or
u
290 NIOOMAGHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bx.IZ.
necessity of the act. But it is tolerably evident that 3
no single person's claims can override all others ; and
that, as a gene ral rule^we ought to repay benefits
received before we do a favour to a c6inra3e-----just as,
if we had borrowed money, we ought to pay ou r
creditors before we make presents to our comrades.
But it may be that even this rule wHl ioof hold 4
good in all cases; for instance, if a man has been
ransomed &om a band of brigands, ought he in turn
to ransom his ransomer, whoever he may be, or repay
him when he demands it, even though he be not
captured, in preference to ransoming his father ? For
it would seem that a man ought to ransom his father
even before himself.
As we said then, g enerallv spe akings we should 6
repay what we owe : but if giving [instead of repay-
ing] be more noble or meet a more pressing need, it
is right to incline in this direction ; for sometimes it
is not even fair to repay the original service, e,g,
when one man has helped another, knowing him
to be a good man, while the latter in repaying him
would be helping one whom he believes to be a bad
man. And so a man is sometimes not boimd to lend
in turn to one who has lent him money: A may
have lent to B in full expectation of being repaid,
as B is an honourable man; but B may have no
hope of being repaid by A, who is a rascal If this
be the real state of the case, the demand for a loan
in return is not fair ; but even if the facts be other-
wise, yet, if they think thus of each other, their con-
duct would be regarded as natural
As we have often said, statements concerning G
2, 3-9.1 FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 291
human affections and actions must share the in-
definiteness of their subject.
It is tolerably plain^ then^ that^ on the one hand,
the claims of aU men are not the same^ but that, on
the other hand, the father's claims do not override all
others, just as^Zeus does not receive all our sacrifices;
7 the daims of parents, brothers, comrades, and bene-
factors are all different, and to each must be rendered
- that which is his own and his due.
And this is the way in which men appear to act :
to a wedding they invite their kinsfolk; for they
have a share in the family, and therefore in all acts
relating thereto : and for the same reason it is held
that kinsfolk have more claim than any others to be
invited to funerals.
8 Parents would seem to have a special claim upon
us for sustenance, as we owe it them, and as it is
nobler to preserve the life of those to whom we are
indebted for our own than to preserve ourselves.
Honour, also, we should pay to our parents, as to
the gods ; but not aU honour : for the honour due
to a father is not the same as that due to a mother ; A
nor do we owe them the honour due to a wise man
or a good general, but that which is due to a father
and that which is due to a mother.
9 To all our elders, again, we should pay the honour
due to their age, by rising up at their approach and
by giving them the place of honour at the table, and
so forth. But between comrades and brothers there
should be freedom of speech and community in every-
thing. And to kinsfolk and fellow-tribesmen and
fellow-citizens^ and aU other persons^ we should
292 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IXi
always try to give their due, and to discriminate
what properly belongs to each, according to the close-
ness of his connection with us, and his goodness or
usefulness. When the persons are of one kind this 10
discrimination is comparatively easy, but when they
are of different kinds it is more difficult. We must
not, however, on this account shirk the difficulty, but
must distinguish as best as we can.
fthe 3. Another difficult question is, whether we should l
'friend- or shouM uot bre ak off friendship with those who
have ceased to be wliat they were.
We may, perhaps, say that those whose friendship
is based on profit or pleasure naturally part when
V^hese cease ; for it was these that they loved : when
these are gone, therefore, it is to be expected that the
ve goes too. But complaints would be likely to
arise if a man who loved another for profit or plea-
sure's sake pretended to love him for his character ;
for, as we said at the outset, quarrels between friends
very frequently arise from a difference between the
real and the supposed motives of the friendship. If, 2
then, a man deceives himself, and supposes that he
is beloved for his character, though the other's be-
haviour gives no groimd for the supposition, he has
only himself to blame ; but if he is deceived by the
other's pretence, then there is a fair ground of com-
plaint against such an impostor, even more than
against those who counterfeit the coinage, inasmuch
as it is a more precious thing that is tampered with.
But if a man admit another to his friendship as 3
a good man, and he becomes and shows himself to be
a bad man, is he still to be loved ? Perhaps we may
2, lOS, 4.] FBIENDSHIP OE LOYE. 293
answer that it is inipossible/ as it_is not everything
that is lovable, but only the goodT) A bad man, then,
is not lovable, and ought not to be loved: for we
ought not to love what is bad, nor to make ourselves
like what is worthless ; but, as we said before, it is
like that makes friends with like.
Is the friendship, then, to be immediately broken
off ? Perhaps not in all cases, but only in the case
of those who are incurably bad : when their reforma-
tion is possible, we are more bound to help them
in their character than their fortune, inasmuch as
character is a nobler thing, and has more to do with
^j^mendship than fortune has. But a man who with-
draws his friendship in such a case, would seem to do
nothing unnatural ; for it was not with such a man
that he made friends : his friend has become another
man, and as he cannot restore him, he stands aloof
from him.
4 But suppose that the one remains what he was
while the other gets better and becomes far superior
in vi rtue : is the latter still to treat the former as a
friend ? Perhaps it is hardly possible that he should
do so. We see this most plainly if the interval be-
tween the two bQ very considerable. Take, for instance,
a boyish friendship : if one of the two remains a child
in understanding, while the other has become a man
in the fullest sense of the word, how can they any
longer be friends, now that the things that will please
them, and the sources of their joys and sorrows^ are
no longer the same ? for not even in regard to each
other's character will their tastes agree, and without
this, we found, people cannot be friends, since they
291 NIGOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk-IX.
cannot live together. (But this point has been
already discussed.)
Shall we, then, simply say that the latter should 5
regard the former as no more a stranger than if he
had never been his friend ? Perhaps we may go
further than this, and say that he should not entirely
forget their former intercourse, and that just as w€
hold that we ought to serve friends before strangers,
so former friends have some claims upon us on the
ground of past friendship, unless extraordinary
depravity were the cause of our parting.
A man*» 4. Friendly relations to others, and all the charac- 1
hit/Heni teristics by which Mendship is defined, seem to be
relation to derfvcd from our relations towards ourselves. A
friend is sometimes described as one who wishes and
does to another what is good or seems good for that
other's sake, or as one who wishes his friend to
exist and to live for his (the friend's) sake. (This
is what mothers feel towards their children, and
what friends who have had a difference feel for one
another.) Others describe a friend as one who lives
with another and chooses what he chooses, or as one
who sympathizes with the griefs and joys of his
friend. (This, also, is especially the case with
mothers.) And, similarly, friendship is usually de-
fined by some one or other of these characteristics.
Now, every one of these characteristics we find 2
in the good man's relations to himself, and in other
men so far as they suppose themselves to be good.
(For it seems, as we have said, that virtue and the
good man are in everything the standard.)
The good man is of one mind with himself, and 8
S, 5-4, «J FBIENDSmP OE LOVEL 295
desires the same tilings with all his soul^ and wishes
for himself what both is and seems good, and does
that (for it is characteristic of him to work out that
which is good) for his own sake — for the sake, that
is to say, of the rational part of him, which seems to
4 be a man's self And he wishes his self to live and
be jareserved, and especially that part of his self by
which he thinks : for existence is good to the good
man ; and every man wishes for himself that which
is good. But no one desires that, as he becomes
another man [i.e, as he grows older], that other self
should be in all respects the same as his present self
(With God, indeed, this may be, for God already is
in complete possession of the good ; but that is only
as being what he is [not man, but God].) But his
reason would seem to be a man's self, or, at least,
to be so in a truer sense than any other of his faculties.
6 Such a man also wishes to live with himself; for
his own_company is pleasant to him. The memory
of his past life is sweet, and for the future he has
good hopes ; and such hopes are pleasant. His mind,
moreover, is well stored with matter for contem-
plation : and he sympathizes with himself in sorrow
and in joy ; for at all seasons the same things give
him pain and pleasure, not this thing now, and then
another thing, — for he is, so to speak, not apt to
change his blind.
Since, then, all these characteristics are found in
the good man's relations to himself, and since his
relations to his friend are the same as his relations to \
himself (fbr_his friend is his second self), friendship \
is described by one or other of these characteristics.
296 NICX)MACHEAK ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. CBk.IX.
and tiiose are called friends in whom these character-
istics are found.
The question whether friendship towards one's seK 6
is or is not possible may be dismissed at present ; but
that it is possible so far as one has two or more
selves would seem to follow from what has been
aheady said, and also from the fact that the extreme
of friendship for another is likened to friendship for
one's self.
But the characteristics we have mentioned appear 7
to be foimd in the generality of men, though tibej^SC^
not good.* Perhaps we may say that so far as they
are agreeable to themselves, and believe they are good,
so far do they share these characteristics. People who
are utterly worthless and impious never have them, nor
do they even seem to have them. But we might almost 8
say roundly that they are wanting in all who are not
good ; for such men are not at one with themselves :
they desire one thing while they wish another, as the
incontinent do, for instance (for, instead of what they
hold to be good, they choose what is pleasant though
injurious). Others, again, through cowardice or lazi-
.. ness, shrink from doing that which they believe is
the best for them ; while those who have done many
terrible things out of wickedness, hate life, and wish
to get rid of it, and sometimes actually destroy them-
selves. •
Bad men try to find people with whom to spend 9
their time, and eschew their own company ; for there
is much that is painful in the past on which IHey
* fpavKos here as elsewhere inolades aU yrho are not good, the
incontinent as well as the vicioas.
4, 6-5, 2.] PEIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 297
look back and in the future to which they look
forward when they are by themselves, but the
company of others diverts them from these thoughts.
As there is nothing lovable in them, they have no
frienjjly feelings towards themselves.
He who is not good, then, cannot sympathize with
himself in joy or sorrow ; for his soul is divided against .
itself: one part of him, by reason of its viciousness, is
pained at being deprived of something, while another'
part of him is pleased ; one part pulls this way, another
that, tearing him to pieces, as it were, between themJ
10 Or if it be impossible to be pained and pleased at the
same time, yet. at any rate, after a short interval he
is pained that he was pleased, and wishes that he had
never partaken of this pleasure; for those who are
not good are full of remorse.
^^ Thus we may say roundly that he who is not
good has no friendly feelings even for himself, as there
is nothing lovable in him. If, then, to be in this state
is utterly miserable, we ought to strain every nerve
to avoid vice, and try to be good ; for thus we may
be friendly disposed towards ourselves, and make
friends with others.
1 6. Well-wishing resembles, but is not the same as, Prund»
friendship : for we may wish well to those who are wiuf^
unknown to us, and who are not aware that we wish
them well; but there can be no friendship in such
cases. But this we have already said.
Neither is well-wishing the same as love; for it
has none of the intense emotion and the desire which
accompany love.
2 Love, moreover, implies intimate acquaintance^
\
298 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLE. LBk.IX.
while wdl- wishing may spring up in a moment; it
does so, for instance, when athletes are competing for
a prize : we may wish well to a competitor, and be
eager for his success, though we would not do any-
thing to help him; for, as we said, we suddenly
become well-wishers and ccmceive a sort of superficial
affection in such casea
The truth seems to be that well-wishin g is the 3
germ of friendship, in the same way as pleasure
in the sight of a person is the germ of love : Kr
no one falls in love unless he is first pleased by
visible beauty; but he who delights in the beauty
of a person is not one whit in love on that account,
unless he also feels the absence and desires the
presence of that person. Just so it is impossible for
people to be friends unless they first become well-
wishers, but people who wish each other well are not
a whit on that account friends ; for they merely wish
good to those whose well-wishers they are, but would
never help them in any enterprise, or put themselves
out for them. One might say, then — extending the
meaning of the term — ^that well-wishing is an un-
developed friendship, which with time and intimate
acquaintance may become friendship proper, — not
that friendship whose motive is profit, nor that whose
motive is pleasure ; for well-wishing is no element in
them. He who has received a benefit does indeed
give his good wishes in return to his benefactor, and
it is but just that he should ; but he who wishes that
another may prosper, in the hope of good things to be
got by his means, does not seem really to wish well
to the other, but rather to himself, just as he is not
and
unanim
6, 3-6, 2.] FBIENPSHIP OB LOVB. 299
really a &iend if he serves him with an eye to
profit.
i But, generally speaking, well-wishing is grounded
upon some kind of excellence or goodness, and arises
when a person seems to us beautiful or brave, or
endowed with some other good quality, as we said in
the case of the athletes.
1 6, Unanimity [or unity of sentiment] also seems priendt.
to be an element in friendship ; and this shows that
it is not mere agreement in opinion, for that is
possible even between .people who know nothing of
each other.
Nor do we apply the term to those who agree in
judgment upon any kind of subject, 6.gr. upon astronomy
(for being of one mind in these matters has nothing
to do with friendship) ; but we say that unanimity
prevails in a state when the citizens agree in their
judgments about what is for the common interest, and
choose the same course^ and carry out the decision
2 of the community. It is with regard to practical
matters, therefore, that people are said to be of one
mind, especially with regard to matters of importance
and things that may be given to both persons, or to all
the persons concerned ; for instance, a state is said to
be of one mind when all the citizens are agreed that
the magistracies shall be elective, or that an alliance
be made with Sparta, or that Fittacus be governor,
Pittacus himself being willing to accept the office.
But when each wishes the government for himself,
like the brothers in the Fhoenissse of Euripides, then
they are at discord: for being of one mind means
that each not merely thinks of the same thing (what-
300 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. IX.
ever it be), but thinks of it under the same con-
ditions — ^as, for instance, if both the populace and the
upper classes agree that the best men shall govern ;
for thus they all get what they want.
Unanimity, then, seems to be, as it is called, the
kind of friendship that prevails in states ; for it has
to do with what is for the common interest, and with
things that have a considerable influence upon life.
This kind of unanimity is found in good men; 3
for they are of one mind with themselves and with
each pther> standing, so to speak^^ always on the same
ground : for the wishes of such people aro-Constant,
and do not ebb and flow like the Euripus ; they wish
what is just and for the common interest, and make
united efforts to attain it. But people who are not 4
fgood cannot be of one mind, just as they cannot be
friends except for a little space or to a. slight extent,
as they strive for more than their share of profit,
but take less than their share of labours and public
services: but every man, while wishing to do this
himself, keeps a sharp eye upon his neighbour, and
prevents him from doing it ; for if they are not thus
on their guard, the community is ruined. The result
is that they are at discord, striving to compel one
another to do what is just, but not willing to do it
themselves.
% lene- 7. Bcnefactors seem to love those whom they have l
ore than benefited more than those who have received benefits
»ed. love those who have conferred them; and as this
appears irrational, people seek for the cause of this
phenomenon.
Mobt people think the reason is that the one is in
6, 3-7, 4 ] FEIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 301
the position of a debtor, the other in the position of
a creditor; and that, therefore, just as in the case
of a loan the debtor wishes his creditor were out of
the way, while the lender, on the other hand, is
anxious that his debtor may be preserved, so here
the benefactor desires the existence of him whom he
has benefited in hopes of receiving favours in return,
while the other is not at all anxious to repay.
Epicharmus, indeed, might perhaps say that this
is only the view of "those who have bad places
at the play," * but it seems to be true to life ; for
the generality of men have short memories, and are
more eager to receive benefits than to confer them,
2 But the real cause would seem to be something
that lies deeper in the nature of things, and not like
that which operates in the case of creditors : for the
creditors have no real affection for their debtors, but
^ only a wish that they may be preserved in order
that they may repay ; but those who have conferred
benefits have a real love and affection for those whom
they have benefited, even though they are not, and
are never likely to be, of any service.
3 The same phenomenon may be observed in crafts-
men ; for every craftsman loves the work of his own
hands more than it would love him if it came to life.
But perhaps poets carry it furthest; for they love
their ovni poems to excess, and are as fond of them
as if they were their children.
4 Now, the case of the benefactors seems to resemble
theirs; those whom they have benefited they have
made, so to speak : that which they have made, then,
* Epioharmus was a Sicilian dramatist.
302 NICOMAOHBAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLR [BK.IX.
they love more than the work loves its maker. And
the reason of this is that we all desire exi stenc e and
love it : but it is in the exercise of our faculties, or in
vthe realization of ourselves, that our existen ce lie s;
for it lies in living and doiiig. But* that which
"^fl. man makes is, in a way, a realization of his self;
therefore he loves it, because he loves existence.
But this is in accordance with the nature of
things ; for it is a law of nature that what a thing
is as yet potentially is exhibited in realization by
that which it makes or does.
Moreover, the manifestation of his action is beau- 6
tiful to the benefactor, so that he delights in the
person that makes it manifest ; but to him who has
received the benefit there is nothing beautiful in the
benefactor, but at the most something useful; and
such an object is less pleasing and less lovable.
Again, we take pleasure in realizing ourselves in 6
the present, in hopes for the future, and in memories
of the past ; but that in which we are realizing our-
selves is the most pleasant, and likewise the most
lovable. Now, for the benefactor what he has done
endures (for that which is beautiful is lasting), while
for him who has received the benefit the advantage
soon passes away. t«
Again, the memory of beautiful deeds is pleasant,
of profitable actions not at all pleasant, or not so
pleasant ; but with expectation the reverse seems to
be the case.
p Again, loving seems like doing something, being
; loved like having something done to you. Those
* Beading *Ey€pytl(f 8* 6 iroi^eros rh tpyov iarl w»s.
7, S-8, 2.] FRIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 303
who have the better part in such transactions then
naturally feel and show more love.
Again, we all have more affection for what we have
achieved with toil, as those who have made money
love it more than those who have inherited it; now,
receiving a benefit seems to involve no labour, while
conferring one seems to be troublesome. And for
this reason mothers have more affection for their
children than fathers; for they have more trouble
in giving them birth, and fuller assurance that they
are their own. But this would seem to be a charac*
teristic of benefactors also.
8. Another question which is raised is, whether {!•"**?.
we ought most to love ourselves or others. ^^^tJT*
We blame, it is said, those who love themselves
most, and apply the term self-loving to them ,as a
term of reproach : and, again, he who is not good is
thought to have regard to himself in everything that
he does, and the more so the worse he is ; and so we
accuse him of doing nothing disinterestedly. The
good man on the other hand, it is thought, takes
what is noble as his motive, and the better he is the
more is he guided by this motive, and by regard for
his friend, neglecting his own interest.
But this thA)ry disagrees with facts, nor is it
surprising that it* should. For it is allowed that we
ought to love him most who is most truly a friend,
and that he is most truly a friend who, in wishing
well to another, wishes well to him for his (the
other's) sake, and even though no one should ever
know. But all these characteristics, and all the
others which go to make up the definition of a friend.
304 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk. DL
are found in the highest degree in a man's relations
to himself; for w e have already seen h ow it is f rom
our relations to ourselves that all our frie ndly rela-
tions to others are derived; Moreover, all the proverbs
point to the same conclusion — such as "Friends.have
one soul," "Friends have all things in common,"
"Equality makes friendship," "The knee is nearer
than the shin." All these characteristics are found
in the highest degree in a man's relations to himself;
for he is his own best friend : and_so he m ust love
himself better than any one else.
People not imnaturally are puzzled to know
which of these two statements to adopt, since both
appeal to them.
Perhaps the best method of dealing with con- 3
flicting statements of this kind is to analyze them,
and then clearly distinguish how far and in what
sense each is right. So here, if we first ascertain
what self-loving means in each statement, the diffi-
culty will perhaps be cleared up.
Those who use self-loving as a term of reproach 4
apply the name to those who take more than their
due of money, and honour, and bodily pleasures ; for
the generality of men desire these things, and set
their hearts upon them as the best things in the
world, so that they are keenly competed for. Those,
then, who grasp at more than their share of these
things indulge their animal appetites and their
passions generally — ^in a word, the irrational part of
their nature. But this is the character of the gene-
rality of men; and hence the term self-loving has
come to be used in this bad sense from the fact that
8, 3-6.] FBIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 305
the greater part of mankind are not good. It is with
justice, then, that we reproach those who are self-
loving in this sense.
That it really is to those who take more than
their due of these things that the term is usually
applied by the generality of men, may easily be shown;
tor if what a man always set his heart upon were
that he, rather than another, should do what is just
or te inperate, or in any other way virtuous — ^if, in a
word, he were always claiming the noble course of
conduct, no one would call him self-loving and no
one would reproach him.
And yet such a man would seem to be more
truly self-loving. At least, he takes for himself that
which is noblest and most truly good, and gratifies
the ruling power in himself, and in all things obeys
jt. But just as the ruling part in a state or in any
other system seems, more than any other part, to be
the state or the system, so also the ruling part of a
man seems to be most truly the man's self. He
therefore who loves and gratifies this part of himself
is most truly self-loving.
Again, we call a man continent or incontinent,*
according as his reason has or has not the mastery,
implying that his reason is his self; and when a man
has acted under the guidance of his reason he is
thought, in the fullest sense, ta have done the deed
himself, and of his own will.
It is plain, then, that this part of us is our self, or
is most truly our self, and that the good man more
♦ iyKpar-fis, continent, in whom the true masters the false self;
Afcpar^s, incontinent, in whom the true self is mastered.
306 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ARISTOTLE. [Bk.IX.
than any other loves this part of himself. He, then,
more than any other, will be self-loving, in another
sense than the man whom we reproach as self-loving,
differing from him by all the difference that exists
between living according to reason and living_ accord-
ing to passion, between desiring what is noble md
desiring what appears to be profitable.
Those who beyond other men set their hearts on 7
noble deeds are welcomed and praised by all ; but if
all men were vieing with each other in the pursuit
of what is noble, and were straining every nerve to
act in the noblest possible manner, the result would
be that both the wants of the community would be
perfectly satisfied, andT ai the" samer-time each in-
dividually would win the greatest of all good things
—for virtue is that.
The good man, therefore, ought to be self-loving ;
for by doing what is noble he will at once benefit
himself and assist others: but the bad man ought
not; for he will injure both himself and his neigh-
bours by following passions that are not good. •
Thus, with the bad man there is a discrepancy 8
between what he ought to do and what he does : but
with the good man what he ought to do is what he
does; for reason always chooses that which is best
for itself; and the good man obeys the voice of
reason.
Again, it is quite true to say of the good man 9
that he does many things for the sake of his friends
and of his country, and will, if need be, even die for
them. He will throw away money and honour, and,
in a word, all the good things for which men compete,
8, 7-9, IJ FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 307
claiming for himself that which is noble ; for he will
prefer a brief period of intense pleasure to a long
period of mild pleasure, one year of noble life to many -«
years of ordinary life, one great and noble action to
many little ones. This, we may perhaps say, is what
he gets who gives his life for others : and so he
chooses for himself something that is noble on a
grand scale.
Such a man will surrender wealth to enrich his
friend : for while his friend gets the money, he gets
what is noble; so he takes the greater good for him-
self.
10 His conduct will be the same with regard to
honours and offices : he will give up all to his friend ;
for this he deems noble and praiseworthy.
Such a man, then, is not unreasonably considered
good, as he chooses what is noble in preference to
everything else.
But, again, it is possible to give up to your friend
an opportunity for action, and it may be nobler to
cause your friend to do a deed than to do it yourselt
11 It is plain, then, that in all cases in which he is
praised the good man takes for himself a larger share
of what is noble. And in this sense, as we have said,
a man ought to be self-loving, but not in the sense
in which the generality of men are self-loving.
1 9. Another disputed question is whether a happy i^^y „
man needs friends or not. nJS^^
It is said that those who are blessed and self- *^'^^'
sufficient have no need of friends; for they are already,
supplied with good things : as self-sufficient, then
they need nothing more, while a friend is an alter ego
308 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk.IX.
who procures for you what you cannot procure
yourself; whence the saying —
" When the god fayoors you, what need of friends ?"
But it seems jtrange, while endowing the happy 2
man with all good things, to deny him friends, which
are thought to be the greatest of all extemaI~gooas.
And if it is more characteristic of a fneiid to
confer than to receive benefits, and if it is character-
istic of a good man and a virtuous character to do
good to others, and if it is nobler to confer benefits
on friends than on strangers, the_ggod man will need
friends to receive benefits from him.
And so people ask whether friends are more
needed in prosperity or adversity, considering that
in adversity we want some one to help us, and in
prosperity some one that we may help.
Again, it is surely absurd to make the happy man 3
a solitary being : for no one would choose to have all
conceivable good things on condition of being alone ;
for man is a social being, and by nature adapted to
share his life with others. The happy man, then,
must have this good, since he has whatever is
naturally good for man. But it is obvious that it
is better to Kve with friends and good people, than
with strangers and casual persons. The happy man,
then, must have friends.
What, then, do those who maintain the former 4
opinion mean ? and in what sense are they right ? Is
it that the generality of men think that friends means
useful people ?^ Friends in this sense certainly the
happy or blessed man will not need, as he already has
9, 2-6.] FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 309
whatever is good. And, again, he wiU have no need, ^
or but little need, of the friendship that is based on )
pleasure; for his life is pleasant and does not require/
adventitious pleasure. Because he does not need
these kind of friends then, people come to think he
does not need friends at alL
But I think we may say that this opinion is not
true. For we said at the outset that happiness is a
c ertain exercise of our faculties ; but the exercise of
our faculties plainly comes to be in time, and is not
like a piece of property acquired once for all. But
if happiness consists in living and exercising our
faculties ; and if the exercise of the good man's
faculties is good and pleasant in itself, as we said
at the outset ; and if the sense that a thing belong
to us is one of the sources of pleasure, but it is easier \
to contemplate others than ourselves, and others' acts
than pur own — then the acts of the good men who
are his friends are pleasant to the good man ; for both '
the natural sources of pleasure are united in them.-*
The happy or blessed man, then, will need such friends,
since he desires to contemplate acts that are good and
belong to him, and such are the acts of a good man
who is his friend.
Again, it is thought that the happy man's life
must be pleasant. Now, if he is solitary, life is hard
for him ; for it is very difficult to be continuously
active by one's self, but not so difficult along with
others, aiid in relation to others. With friends, then,
the exercise of his faculties will be more continuous,
being pleasant in iteel£ And this is what ought
• (1) They are good, (2) they belong to him.
310 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [BK.IX.
to be the case with the blessed man; for the good
man, as such, del ights in acts of virtue and is vexed
by acts of vice, just as a musician is pleased by good
music and pained by bad.
/ Again, he would get ajort pfj^rflfCtice 7
^living with good men, as Theognis Qays.*
But if we look a little deeper into the nature of
things, a good friend appears to be naturally desirable
to the good man : —
What is naturally good, we have already said, is
good and pleasant in itself to the good man.
Now, life is defined in the case of animals by the
power of feeling, in the case of man by the power of
feeling or thought: but the power involves refer-
ence to its exercise ; and it is in this exercise that the
reality lies: life, then, in its reality, seems to be
feeling or thinking.
Life, again, is one of the things that are good and
pleasant in themselves ; for it is determinate or
formed, and the determinate or formed is of the
nature of the good ; but that which is naturally [or in
itself] good is good to the good man. (And hence life
seems to be pleasant to all men. But by life we must s
not understand a bad or corrupt life, or a life of pain;
for such a life is formless, as are all its constituents.
We shall endeavour, presently, to throw some light on
the nature of pain.)
Life itself, then, is good and pleasant (as appears 9
also from the fact that all desire it, and especially
the good and the blessed ; for life is most desirable
to them, and their life is the most blessed).
* C/. the last words of this book*
9, 7-10 J FBIENDSHIP OB LOVK 311
But he who sees feels that he sees, and he who
hears feels that he hears, and he who walks feels that
he walks; and similarly, whatever else we do, there
is something that perceives that we are putting forth
power, so that we must feel that we feel, and know
that we know.
But to feel that we feel, or to know that we know,
is to feel or to know that we exist ; for our existence,
we found, is feeling or knowing.
But to feel that we exist is a thing that is pleasant
in itself; for life is naturally good, and to feel that
one has a good is pleasant.
Life, then, is desirable, and most of all desirable
to the good man, because his existence is good to
him, and pleasant ; for he is pleased by the conscious-
ness of that which is good in itself.
10 But the good man stands in the same relation to
^ his friend as to himself, for his friend is another self :
just as his own existence, then, is desirable to each,
so, or nearly so, is his friend's existence desii;able.
But existence, we found, is desirable because of the
feeling that one's self is good, such a feeling being
pleasant in itself.
The good man, then, should be conscious of the
existence of his friend also, and this consciousness will
be given by living with him and by rational converse
with him (for this would seem to be the proper mean-
ing of living together, when applied to man, and not
merely feeding in the same place, which it means
when applied to beasts).
Putting all this together, then, if his own existence
is desirable in itself to the good man, being naturally
812 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [BK.IX.
good and pleasant, and if his Mend's existence is also
desirable to him in nearly the same way, it follows
that a friend is a desirable thing^ for_him. ^BuOhat
which is desirable for him he ought to have, or in
that respect he will be incomplete. Our conclusion,
therefore, is that he who is. to be happy must have
good friends.
offktpnmer 10. Are wc to make as many friends asjno«5able ? i
/ri«kto. or, as in the case of guest-friendship * we approve of
the saying, "neither a host of guest-friends nor yet
none," shall we say that in the case of friendship
also it is best neither to be friendless nor yet to have
too many friends ?
With regard to friends who are chosen with a 2
view to being useful, the saying would seem to be
perfectly appropriate; for it would be troublesome
to repay the services of a large number, and indeed
life is not long enough to enable us to do it. Of such
friends, therefore, a larger number than is sufficient
for one's own life would be superfluous and a hin-
drance to noble living ; so we do not want more than
that number.
Again, of friends chosen with a view to pleasure
a small number is enough, as a small proportion of
sweets is enough in our diet.
But are we to have as many good men for friends 3
as we can, or is there any limit of numbers in friend-
ship, as there is in a state ? for you could not make
a state out of ten men, and if you had a hundred
thousand your state would cease to be a state. But
perhaps the right number of citizens is not one fixed
* CJ. note on ?iii. 3, 4.
10, IH).] FBIENDSHIP OR LOVE. 313
number, but any number within certain limita And
so with friends there is a limit to their number, and
that is, we may say, the largest number that one can
4 live with ; for living together is, as we saw, one of the
most essential characteristics of friendship, and it is
quite evident that it is impossible to live with and
spread one's self abroad among a large number.
Moreover, a man's friends must be friends with
- one another, if all are to spend their time together;
but this is difficult with a large number.
6 Again, it becomes hard for him to sympathize
duly with the joys and sorrows of a large number ;
for then he is likely to have at the same time to
rejoice with one and to grieve with another. Per-
haps, then, the best plan is not to try to have as
many friends as possible, but so many as are suffi-
cient for a life in common ; and indeed it would be
impossible to have an ardent friendship with a great
number.
. And, for the same reason, it is impossible to be in
love with many persons at once ; for it seems that
love is a^ort of superlative friendship, and that this
is only possible towards one person, and an ardent
friendship towards a few only.
6 And this seems, in fact, to happen : we do not
find a number of people bound together by the sort
of friendship that exists between comrades, but the
friendships that the poets celebrate are friendships of
two persons. And the man of many friends, who is
hail-fellow-well-met with everybody, seems to be
really friends with no one (in any other way than as
fellow-citizens are friends) — I mean the man whom
we call obsequious.
814 NICOMAOHBAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [BK.IX.
After the manner of fellow-citizens, indeed, it is
possible to be friends with a great number, and yet
not to be obsequious, but to be a truly good man ; but
that kind of friendship which is based on virtue and
on regard for the friend's self one cannot have for
many, but must be well satisfied if one can find even
a few such persons.
Mendt 11. Is it in prosperity or adversity that we most 1
nproMperity need fricuds ? For under both circumstances wo
ujf, have recourse to them : in misfortune we need help,
in prosperity we need people to live with and to do
good to ; for we wish to do good.
In adversity, it may be answered, the need is
more pressing; we then require useful friends: but
friendship is a nobler, j^^ing in prnspprify 3 we then
seek out good men for friends ; for it is mpr§,deaiiable
to do good to and to live with such people.
The mere presence of friends is. sweet, even in 2
misfortune; for our grief is lightened when our
friends share it. And so it might be asked whether
they literally take a share of it as of a weight, or
whether it is not so, but rather that their presence,
which is sweet, and the consciousness of their sym-
pathy, make our grief less. But whether this or
something else be the cause of the relief, we need not
further inquire; the fact is evidently as we said.
But their presence seems to be complex in its
eflects. On the one hand, the mere sight of friends 3
is pleasant, especially when we are in adversity, and
contributes something to assuage our grief; for a
friend can do much to comfort us both by sight and
speech, if he has tact : he knows our character, and
11, l^J FBIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 315
4 what pleases and what pains us. But, on the other^
hand, to see another grieving over our misfortunes is ^
a painful thing; for every one dislikes to be the
cause of sorrow to his fiiends. For this reason he
who is of a manly nature takes care not to impart
his grief to his friends, shrinking from the pain that
would give them, imless this is quite outweighed by
the relief it would give him ; ♦ and generally he does
not allow others to lament with him, as he is not
given to lamentations himself; but weak women
and effeminate men delight in those who lament with
them, and love them as friends and sympathizers.
(But evidently we ought in all circumstances to take
the better man for our model.)
5 In prosperity, again, the presence of friends not
only makes the time pass pleasantly, but also brings
the consciousness that our friends are pleased at our
good fortune. And for this reason it would seem
that we should be eager to invite our friends to share
our prosperity, for it is noble to be ready to confer
benefits, — but slow to summon them to us in adversity,
for we ought to be loth to give others a share of our
evil things : whence comes the saying, " That I am in
sorrow is sorrow enough." But we should be least
unwilling to call them in when they will be likely to
relieve us much without being greatly troubled them-/-
selves.
6 But, on the other hand, when our friends are in
trouble, we should, I think, go to them unsummoned
and readily (for it is a friend's ofiice to serve his
friend, and especially when he is in need and does not
* See a few lines on, end of § 6>
316 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. IX.
claim assistance, for then it is nobler and pleasanter
to both) : when they are in prosperity, we should go
readily to help them (for this is one of the uses of a
friend), but not so readHy to share their good things;
for it is not a noble thing to be very ready to receive
a benefit. But we may add that we ought to be
careful that our refusal shall not seem ungracious, as
sometimes happens.
The presence of friends, then, in ' conclusion, is
manifestly desirable on all occasions,
►^^^ti) 12. Lovers delight above all things in the sight i
■u£ of each other, a^d prefer the gratification of this
sense to that of all the others, as this sense is more
concerned than any other in the being and origin of
love. In like manner, we may venture to say, do
friends find living together more desirable than any-
thing else ; for friendship is essentially community.
\ Moreover, a man stands to his friend in the same
y^ relation in which he stands to himself: but with
' regard to himself the feeling of existence is desirable ;
therefore the same feeling with regard to his friend is
desirable. But it is in a common life that they attain
this feeling; therefore they naturally desire a life in
common.
Again, whatever that be which a man holds to 2
constitute existence, or for the sake of which he
chooses to live, in that he wishes to pass his time
together with his friends ; and thus some drink to-
gether, others gamble, others practise gymnastics, or
hunt, or study philosophy together — in each case
spending their time together in that which they love
most of all things in life; for, wishing to live in
12, 1-3.] FRIENDSHIP OB LOVE. 317
common with their friends, they do those things and
take part together in those things which, as they
think, constitute life in common.
8 Thus the friendship of those who are not good
comes to be positively bad ; for, having no stability of
character, they confirm each other in things that are not
good, and thus become positively bad as they become
more like one another. But the friendship of good
men is good, and grows with their intercourse ; and
they seem to become better as they exercise their
faculties and correct each other's deficiencies: for
each moulds himself to the likeness of that which
he approves in the other ; whence the saying, " From
good men thou shalt learn good things/' *
So much, then, for friendship. We will now pass
to the consideration of pleasure.
♦ iffdK&y fily y^ dir* i<rd\it /ta^crecu. — Theognij,
BOOK X.
CHAPTERS 1-8. PLEASURE.
Reaiongfor !• 0^^^ next business, I think, should be to treat 1
^£2SJj[*^ of pleasure. For pleasure seems, more than anything
else, to have an intimate connection with our nature ;
which is the reason why, in educating the young, we
use pleasure and pain as the rudders of their course.
Moreover, delight in what we ought to delight in, and
hatred of what we ought to hate, seem to be of the
utmost importance in the formation of a virtuous
' character ; for these feelings pervade the whole of
life, and have power to draw a man to virtue and
happiness, as we choose what pleases, and shun what
pains us.
And it would seem that the discussion of these 2
matters is especially incumbent on us, since there
is much dispute about them. There are people
who say that the good is pleasure, and there are
people who say, on the contrary, that pleasure is
altogether bad — some, perhaps, in the conviction that
it is really so, others because they think it has a
good effect on men's lives to assert that pleasure is a
bad thing, even though it be not; for the generality
1, 1-2, 1.] PLEASURE. 319
of men, they say, incline this way, and are slaves to
their pleasures, so that they ought to be pulled in the
opposite direction : for thus they will be brought into
the middle course.
But I cannot think that it is right to speak thus.
For assertions about matters of feeling and conduct
carry less weight than actions ; and so, when assertions
are found to be at variance with palpable facts, they
fall into contempt, and bring the truth also into dis-
credit. Thus, when a man who speaks ill of pleasure
is seen at times to desire it himself, he is thought to
show by the fact of being attracted by it that he really
considers all pleasure desirable ; for the generality of
men are not able to draw fine distinctions. It seems,
then, that true statements are the most useful, for
practice as well as for theory ; for, being in harmony
with facts, they gain credence, and so incline those
who understand them to regulate their lives by them.
But enough of this : let us^owgo^hrough the current
opinions about pleasure.
2. Eudoxus thought pleasure was the good, because ^^
he saw that all beings, both rational and irrational, 2*Jftf ^
strive after it ; but in all cases, he said, that which is
desirable * is good, and that which is most desirable
is best : the fact, then, that all beings incline to one
and the same thing indicates that this is the best
thing for all ; for each being finds out what is good
for itself — ^its food, for instance : that, then, which is
good for all, and which all strive after, is the good.
The statements of Eudoxus were accepted rather
* rh alptrSy covers, as no English word can, the transition from
desired to desirable.
320 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
because of the excellence of his character than on
their own account; for he seemed to be a remark-
ably temperate man ; and so people thought that it
was not from love of pleasure that he spoke thus, but
that what he said really was the fact.
Eudoxus also thought that his point could be 2
proved no less clearly by the argument from the
opposite of pleasure : — pain is, in itself, an object of
aversion to all beings ; therefore its opposite is desir-
able for all.
Again, he argued, that is most desirable which we
choose, not on account of something else, but for its
own sake : but this is admitted to be the case with
pleasure ; for we never ask a man for his motive in
taking pleasure, it being understood that pleasure is
in itself desirable.
Again, he argued iihat any good thing whatso-
ever is made more desirable by the addition of
pleasure, e.g. just or temperate conduct; but it can
only be by the good that the good is increased.
Now, this last argument seems indeed to show 3
that pleasure is a good thing, but not that it is one
whit better than any other good thing ; for any good
thing is more desirable with the addition of another
good thing than by itself.
Nay, Plato actually employs a similar argument
to show that pleasure is not the good. "The pleasant
life,'' he says, "is more desirable with wisdom than
without: but if the combination of the two be better,
pleasure itself cannot be the good ; for no addition can
make the good itself more desirable." And it is equally
evident that, if any other thing be made more desir-
2, 2-6.1 PLEASUBE. 321
able by the addition of one of the class of things that
are good in themselves, that thing cannot be the good.
4 What good is there, then, which is thus incapable of
addition, and at the same time such that men can
participate in it 2 For that is the sort of good that
we want.
But those who maintain, on the contrary, that
what all desire is not good, surely talk nonsense.
What all men think, that, we say, is true. And to
him who bids us put no trust in the opinion of man-
kind, we reply that we can scarce put greater trust in
his opinion. If it were merely irrational creatures
that desired these things, there might be something
in what he says; but as rational beings also desire
them, how can it be anything but nonsense ? Indeed,
it may be that even in inferior beings there is some
natural principle of good stronger than themselves,
which strives after their proper good.
5 Again, what the adversaries of Eudoxus say about
his argument from the nature of the opposite of
pleasure, does not seem to be sound. They say that,
though pain be bad, yet it does not follow that
pleasure is good ; for one bad thing may be opposed
to another bad thing, and both to a third thing which
is diflTerent from either.* Now, though this is not a
bad remark, it does not hold true in the present
instance. For if both were bad, both alike ought to
be shunned, or if neither were bad, neither should be
shunned, or, at least, one no more than the other:
but, as it is, men evidently shun the one as bad and
* The neutral state, neither pleasure nor pain, which they hold
to be good.
Y
S22 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OP ABISTOTLE. [Bk.X.
choose the other as good; they are, in feet, there-
fore, opposed to one another in this respect.
j^m«n« 3, Again, even though pleasure is not a quality, ;
a quality; it docs not follow that it is not a good thin£:. The
that %tu not , , , , , ° °
d^^rminei; exercise of virtue, happiness itself, is not a quality.
^^m^%ito ^^ ^ objected, again, that the good is determinate, j
^^^ while pleasure is indeterminate, because it admits of
diffar in ^k more and a less.
Now, if they say this because one may be itiore
or less pleased, then the same thing may be said of
justice and the other virtues ; for it is plain that, with
regard to them, we speak— of people as more or less
virtuous : some men are moi^ just and more brave
than others, and it is possil^e to act more or less
justly and temperately.
But if they mean that one pleasure may be more
or less of a pleasure than another, I suspect that they
miss the real reason when they say it is because
some are pure and some are mixed. Why should it 8
not be the same with pleasure as with health, which,
though something determinate, yet allows of more
and less ? Fot the due proportion ^f elements
[which constitutes health] is not the same for all, nor
always the same for the same person, but may vary
within certain limits without losing its character,
being now more and now less truly health. And it
may be the same with pleasure.
Again, assuming that the good is complete, while 4
motion and coming into being are incomplete, they try
to show that pleasure is a motion and a coming into
being.
But they do not seem to be right even in saying
8, 1-7.] PLEASUBB. 323
that it is a motion : for every motion seems necessarily
to be quick or slow, either absolutely, as the motion of
the universe, or relatively; but pleasure is neither
quick nor slow. It is, indeed, possible to be quickly
pleased, as to be quickly angered ; the feeling, how-
ever, cannot be quick, even relatively, as can walk-
ing and growing, etc. The passage to a state of
pleasure, then, may be quick or slow, but the exercise
of the power, i.e, the feeling of pleasure, cannot be
quick.
Again, how can pleasure be a coming into being ?
It seems that it is not possible for anything to
come out of just anything, but what a thing comes
out of, that it is resolved into. Pain, then, must be
the dissolution of that whose coming into being is plea-
sura Accordingly, they maintain that pain is falling
short of the normal state, pleasure its replenishment.
But these are bodily processes. If, then, pleasure
be the replenishment of the normal state, that in which
the replenishment takes place, i,e. the body, must be
that which is pleased. But this does not seem to be
the case. Pleasure, therefore, is not a replenishment,
but while the process of replenishment is going on we
may be pleased, and while the process of exhaustion
is going on we may be pained.*
This view of pleasure seems to have been suggested
by the pleasures and pains connected with nutrition;
for there it is true that we come into a state of want,
and, after previous pain, find pleasure in replenish-
ment. But this is not the case with all pleasures ;
for there is no previous pain involved in the pleasures
* Adopting Spongers conjecture, jccvo^/icvos for T9fxv6fi€uos,
324 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
of the mathematician, nor among the sensuous plea-
sures in those of smell, nor, again, in many kinds of
sights and sounds, nor in memories and hopes. What
is there, then, of which these pleasures are the be-
coming ? Here there is nothing lacking that can be
replenished.
To those, again, who [in order to show that 8
pleasure is not good] adduce the disgraceful kinds of
pleasure we might reply that these things are not
pleasant. Though they be pleasant to ill-conditioned
persons, we must not therefore hold them to be
pleasant except to them ; just as we do not hold that
to be wholesome, or sweet, or bitter, which is whole-
some, sweet, or bitter to the sick man, or that to be
white which appears white to a man with ophthalmia.
Or, again, we might reply that these pleasures 9
are desirable, but not when derived from these
sources, just as it is desirable to be rich, but not at
the cost of treachery, and desirable to be in health,
but not at the cost of eating any kind of abominable
food.
Or we might say that the pleasures are specifically lo
different. The pleasures derived from noble sources
are different from those derived from base sources,
and it is impossible to feel the just man's pleasure
without being just, or the musical man's pleasure
without being musical, and so on with the rest.
The distinction drawn between the true friend U
and the flatterer seems to show either that pleasure is
not good, or else that pleasures differ in kind. For
the former in his intercourse is thought to have the
good in view, the latter pleasure ; and while we blame
3, 8-4, 2.] PLEASURE. 325
the latter, we praise the former as having a different
aim in his intercourse.
12 Again, no one would choose to live on condition
of having a child's intellect all his life, though he
were to enjoy in the highest possible degree all the
pleasures of a child ; nor choose to gain enjoyment by
the performance of some extremely disgraceful act,
though he were never to feel pain.
There are many things, too, which we should care
for, even though they brought no pleasure, as sight,
memory, knowledge, moral and intellectual excellence.
Even if we grant that pleasure necessarily accom-
panies them, this does not affect the question ; for we
should choose them even if no pleasure resulted from
them.
13 It seems to be evident, then, that pleasure is not
the good, nor are all pleasures desirable, but that some
are desirable, differing in kind, or in their sources,
from those that are not desirable. Let this be taken
then as a sufficient account of the current opinions
about pleasure and paia.
1 4. As to the nature or quality of pleasure, we shall ^JJJ^ .
more readily discover it if we make a fresh start as ''*^^ ^
follows : —
Vision seems to be perfect or complete at any
moment; for it does not lack anything which can
be added afterwards to make its nature complete.
Pleasure seems in this respect to resemble vision ; for
it is something whole and entire, and it would be
impossible at any moment to find a pleasure which
woidd become complete by lasting longer.
2 Therefore pleasure is not a motion ; fot every
326 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
motion requires time and implies an end; e,g. the
motion or process of building is complete when the
required structure is made — either in the whole time
therefore^ or in this final moment of it. But in the
several portions of this time all the motions are in-
complete, and specifically different from the whole
motion and from each other; the fitting together of
the stones is difierent from the fluting of the pillar,
and both from the building of the temple. The
building of the temple is complete ; nothing more is
required for the execution of the plan. But the
building of the foundation and of the triglyph are
incomplete ; for each is the building of a part only.
These motions, then, are specifically different from
one another, and it is impossible to find a motion
whose nature is complete at any moment — ^it is com-
plete, if at all, only in the whole time.
It is the same also with walking and the other 3
kinds of locomotion. For though all locomotion is a
motion from one place to another, yet there are dis-
tinct kinds of locomotion, as fiying, walking, leaping,
etc. Nay, not only so, but even in walking itself
there are differences, for the whence and whither are
not the same in the entire course and in a portion
of the course, or in this portion and in that, nor is
crossing this line the same as crossing that ; for you
do not cross a line simply, but a line that is in a given
place, and this line is in a different place from that
I must refer to my other works * for a detailed dis-
♦ Physios, Book iii. f. : c/. especially viii. 8, 264 b, 27, quoted by
Bamsaner, who fonnds on it an ingenions emendation of this
passage.
4, 3-6.] PLEASURE. 327
cussion of motion; but it seems that it is. not complete
at any moment, but that its several parts are incom-
plete, and that they are specifically dififerent from
one another, the whence and whither being a specific
difierence.
Pleasure, on the other hand, is complete in its
nature at any moment. It is evident, therefore, that
these two must be distinct from each other, and that
pleasure must be one of the class of whole and
complete things. And this woidd also seem to follow
from the fact that though duration is necessary for
motion, it .is not necessary for pleasure — for a
momentary pleasure is something whole and entire.
From these considerations it is plain that they
are wrong in saying that pleasure is a motion or a
coming into being. For these terms are not applied
to every thing, but only to those things that are
divisible into parts and are not wholes. We cannot
speak of the coming into being of vision, or of a
mathematical point, or of unity ; nor is any one of
them a motion or a/coming into being. And these
terms are equally inapplicable to pleasure; for it is
something whole and entire.
Each sense exercises itself upon its proper object,
and exercises itself completely when it is in good
condition and the object is the noblest of those that
fall within its scope ; for the complete exercise of a
faculty seems to mean this ; and we may assume that
it makes no difference whether we speak of the sense,
or of the sensitive subject as exercising itself: in
either case, then, we may say that the exercise is best
when on the one side you have the finest condition.
328 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
and on the other the highest of the objects that fall
within the scope of this faculty.
But this exercise of the faculty will he not only
the most complete, but also the pleasantest : for the
exercise of every sense is attended with pleasure, and
so is the exercise of reason and the speculative faculty;
and it is pleasantest when it is most complete, and it
is most complete when the faculty is well-trained
and the object is the best of those that fall under this
faculty.
And, further, the pleasure completes the exercise 6
of the faculty. But the pleasure completes it in a
different way from that in which the object and the
faculty of sense complete it, when both are as they
should be ; just as health causes healthy activities in
a different way from that in which the physician
causes them.
(That the exercise of every sense is accompanied 7
by pleasure is evident : we speak of pleasant sights
and pleasant sounds.
It is evident also that the pleasure is greatest
when both the faculty and that upon which it is
exercised are as good as they can be: when this is the
case both with the object of sense and the sentient
subject, there will always be pleasure, so long, that is,
as you have the subject to act and ihe object to be
acted upon.)
Now, the pleasure makes the exercise complete 8
not as the habit or trained faculty* does, being
• As already remarked, there is no one English word whioh
includes these varions senses of l|is, (1) habit of body, (2) moral
habit or character, (8) inteUectoal habit or trained faculty.
4, 6-10.] PLEASURE. 329
already present in the subject, but as a sort of super-
added completeness, like the grace of youth.*
So long, then, as both the object of thought or of
sense and the perceptive or contemplative subject are
-as they ought to be, so long will there be pleasure in
the exercise; for so long as the object to be acted
upon and the subject that is able to act remain the
same, and maintain the same relation to each other,
the result must be the same.
9 How is it, then, that we are incapable of continuous
pleasure? Perhaps the reason is that we become
exhausted; for no human faculty is capable of con-
tinuous exercise. Pleasure, then, also cannot be con-
tinuous; for it is an accompaniment of the exercise
of faculty. And for the same reason some things
please us when new, but afterwards please us less.
For at first the intellect is stimidated and exercises
itself upon them strenuously, just as we strain our
eyes to look hard at something ; but after a time the
exertion ceases to be so intense, and becomes relaxed;
and so the pleasure also loses its keenness.
10 The desire for pleasure we should expect to be
shared by all men, seeing that all desire to live.
But life is an exercise of faculties, and each man
exercises the faculties he most loves upon the things
he most loves; e.g, the musical man exercises his
hearing upon melodies, and the studious man exer-
* At oliher periods of life the various organs of the body may
perform their f nnotions completely, but in youth this is acoompanied
by an inexpressible charm which all other ages lack.
The only analogy between pleasnre and the doctor is that both
" complete the activity " from oatside : medicines alter the f onctions ;
pleasure, like beauty, does not alter them, bnt is an added perfection*
830 NIOOMAOHEAN ETHICS OP AEISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
cises his intellect upon matters of speculation, and so
on with the rest.
And pleasure completes the exercise of faculties,
and therefore life, which men desire.
Naturally, therefore, men desire pleasure too ; for
each man finds in it the completion of his life, which
is desirable.
But whether we desire life for the sake of plea- H
sure, or pleasure for the sake of life, is a question
which we may dismiss for the present. For the two
seem to be joined together, and not to admit of
separation : without exercise of faculties there is no
pleasure, and every such exercise is completed by
pleasure.
Pleasures 6. And from this it seems to follow that pleasures i
wrZ'^to differ in kind, since specifically different things we
m standard belicve to be completed by specifically different things.
nan, For this sccms to be the case with the products both
of nature and of art, as animals and trees, paintings,
sculptures, houses, and furniture. Similarly, then,
we believe that exercises of faculty which differ in
kind are completed by things different in kind.
But the exercises of the intellectual faculties are 2
specifically different from the exercises of the senses,
and the several kinds of each from one another;
^ therefore the pleasures which complete them are also
different.
The same conclusion would seem to foUow from
the close connection that exists between each pleasure
and the exercise of faculty which it completes. For
the exercise is increased by its proper pleasure ; e,g,
people are more likely to understand any matter, and
)
4, 11-6, 6.] PLEASUBE. 331
to go to the bottom of it, if the exercise is pleasant to
them. Thus, those who delight in geometry become
geometricians, and imderstand all the propositions
better than others ; and similarly, those who are fond
of music, or of architecture, or of anything else, mako
progress in that kind of work, because they delight in
it. The pleasures, then, help to increase the exercise ;
but that which helps to increase it must be closely
connected with it : but when things are specifically
different from one another, the things that are closely
connected with them must also be specifically different.
3 The same conclusion follows perhaps still more
clearly from the fact that the exercise of one faculty
is impeded by the pleasure proper to another; e.gr,
a lover of the flute is unable to attend to an argu-
ment if he hears a man playing, since he takes more
delight in flute-playing than in his present business ;
the pleasure of the flute-player, therefore, hinders
the exercise of the reason.
The same result follows in other cases, too, when-
ever a man is exercising his faculties on two things
at a time ; the pleasanter business thwarts the other,
and, if the difference in pleasantness be great, thwarts
it more and more, even to the extent of suppressing
it altogether. Thus, when anything gives us intense
delight, we cannot do anything else at all, and when
we do a second thing, we do not very much care about
the first; and so people who eat sweetmeats in the
theatre do this most of all when the actors are bad.
Since its proper pleasure heightens the exercise
of a faculty, making it both more prolonged and
better, while pleasure from another source spoils it,
332 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF AHISTOTLK TBr. X.
it is evident that there is a great difference between
these two pleasures. Indeed, pleasure from another
source has almost the same effect as pain from the
activity itself. For the exercise of a faculty is spoilt
by pain arising from it; as happens, for instauce,
when a man finds it disagreeable and pamful to write
or to calculate; for he stops writing in the one
case and calculating in the other, since the exer-
cise is painful The exercise of a faculty, then, is
affected in opposite ways by its proper pleasure and its
proper pain; and by "proper" I mean that which is
occasioned by the exercise itself. But pleasure from
another source, we have already said, has almost the
same effect as its proper pain ; i.e. it interferes with the
exercise of the faculty, though not to the same extent.
Agam, as the exercises of our faculties differ in 6
goodness and badness, and some are to be desired and
some to be shunned, while some are indifferent, so do
the several pleasures differ ; for each exercise has its
proper pleasure. Th^ pleasure which is proper to a
good activity, then, is ^ood, and that which is proper
to one that is not good is bad : for the desire of noble
things is laudable, and the desire of base things is
blamable; but the pleasures which accompany the
exercises of our faculties belong to them even more
than the desires do, since the latter are distinct both in
time and in nature, while the former are abnost coin-
cident in time, and so hard to distinguish from them
that it is a matter of debate whether the exercise bo
not identical with the pleasure.
It seems, however, that the pleasure is not the 7
same as the act of thinking or of feeling; that is im-
5, 6-9.] PLEASTJBE. 333
possible: but the fact that the two are inseparable
makes some people fancy that they are identical.
As, then, the exercises of the faculties vary, so do
their res pective pleasures. Sight is purer than touch,
hearing and smell than taste * : there is a correspond-
ing difference, therefore, between their pleasures ; and
the pleasures of the intellect are purer than these
pleasures of sense, and some of each kind are purer
than others.
8 Each kind of being, again, seems to have its
proper pleasure, as it has its proper function, — ^viz. the
pleasure which accompanies the exercise of its faculties
or the realization of its natura And a separate con-
sideration of the several kinds of animals will confirm
this : the pleasures of a horse, a dog, and a man are
all different — as Heraditus says, a donkey would
prefer hay to gold; for there is more pleasure in
fodder than in gold to a donkey.
The pleasurfs of specificaUy different beings, then,
are specifically different; and we might naturally
suppose that there would be no specific difference
between the pleasures of beings of the same species.
9 And yet there is no small difference, in the pleasures
of men at least : what pleases this man pains that ;
what is grievous and hateful to one is pleasant and
lovable to another. This occurs in the case of sweet
* Sight and tonch are classed together on the one hand, and
hearing, smell, and taste on the other, because, while the announce-
ments of all the senses are, in the first instance, of secondary
qualities (colours, sounds, etc.), it is mainly from the announce-
ments of sight and touch that we advance to the knowledge of
the mathematical properties or primary qualities (number, figure^
motion, etc.).
334 NIOOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. X.
things, too : a man in a fever has a different notion
of what is sweet from a man in health ; and a feeble
man's notion of what is hot is different from that of
a robust man. And the like occurs in other matters
also.
But in all matters of this kind we hold that lo
things are what they appear to be to the perfect man.
Now, if this opinion is correct, as we hold it to
be — ^if, that is, in every case the test is virtue, or the
good man as such — ^then what appears to him to be
pleasure will be pleasure, and what he delights in
will be pleasant.
If what is disagreeable to him appears pleasant
to another, we need not be astonished ; for there are
many ways in which men are corrupted and per-
verted: such things, however, are not pleasant, but
only pleasant to these men with their disposition. It li
is plain, then, that we must not allow the confessedly
base pleasures to be pleasures at all, except to corrupt
men.
But of the pleasures that are considered good,
which or what kind are to be called the proper
pleasures of man ? We cannot be in doubt if we
know what are the proper exercises of his faculties ;
for the proper pleasures are their accompaniments.
Whether, then, the exercise of faculties proper to the
complete and happy man be one or many, the plea-
sures that complete that exercise will be called
pleasures of man in the full meaning of the words,
and the others in a secondary sense and with a
fraction of that meaning, just as is the case with the
exercises of the faculties.
A.^-^
% 10-6. 3'] CONCLUSION. 335
F
^H CEAPTEBS 6-9. COKCLnSIOK.
^ 6. Now that we have diacuBsed the several kindq m
of virtue and friendship and pleaaiire, it remains to »
give a summary account of happiness, since we
assume that it is the end of aU that man does. And
it will shorten our statement if we first recapitulate
what we have said above.
■3 We said that happiness is not a habit or trained
faculty. If it were, it would be within the reaeh of
a man who slept all his days and hved the life of a
vegetable, or of a man who met with the greatest
misfortunes. As we cannot accept this conclusion,
we must place happiness in some exercise of faculty,
as we said before. But as the exercises of faculty are
sometimes necessary (i.e. desirable for the sake of
something else), sometimes desirable in themselves, it
is evident that happiness must be placed among those
that are desirable in themselves, and not among those
that are desirable for the sake of something else ; for
happiness lacks nothing; it is sufficient in itself.
3 Now, the exercise of faculty is desirable in itself
when nothing is expected irom it beyond itself.
Of this nature are held to be (1) the manifesta-
tions of excellence ; for to do what is noble and excel-
lent must be counted desirable for itself: and (2)
those amusements which please us ; for they are not
chosen for the sake of anything else, — indeed, men
are more apt to be injured than to be benefited
by them, through neglect of their health and fortunes.
Now, most of those whom men call happy have
recourse to pastimes of this sort. And on this account
336 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
those who show a ready wit in such pastimes find
favour with tyrants ; for they make themselves plea-
sant in that which the tyrant wants^ and what he
wants is pastime. These amusements, then, are gene-
rally thought to be elements of happiness, because
princes employ their leisure in them. But such per-
sons, we may venture to say, are no criterion. For i
princely rank does not imply the possession of virtue
or of reason, which are tiie sources of all excellent
exercise of faculty. And if these men, never having
tasted pure and refined pleasure, have recourse to the
pleasures of the body, we should not on that account
think these more desirable ; for children also fancy
that the things which they value are better than
anything else. It is only natural, then, that as chil-
dren differ from men in their estimate of what is
valuable, so bad men should differ from good.
As we have often said, therefore, that is truly 6
valuable and pleasant which is so to the perfect man.
Now, the exercise of those trained faculties which are
proper to him is what each man finds most desirable ;
what the perfect man finds most desirable, therefore,
is the exercise of virtue.
Happiness, therefore, does not consist in amuse- 6
ment; and indeed it is absurd to suppose that the
end is amusement, and that we toil and moil all our
life long for the sake of amusing ourselves. We may
say that we choose everything for the sake of some-
thing else, excepting only happiness ; for it is the end.
But to be serious and to labour for the sake of
amusement seems silly and utterly childish ; while to
amuse ourselves in order that we may be serious, as
e, 4-7, 1.1 CONCLUSION. 337
Anacharsis says, seems to be right; for amusement
is a sort of recreation, and we need recreation because
we are unable to work continuously.
Recreation, then, cannot be the end ; for it is taken
as a means to the exercise of our faculties.
Again, the happy life is thought to be that which
exhibits virtue ; and such a life must be serious and
cannot consist in amcisement.
7 Again, it is held that things of serious import-
ance * are better than laughable and amusing things,
and that the better the organ or the man, the more
important is the function ; but we have already said
that the function or exercise of that which is better
is higher and more conducive to happiness.
8 Again, the enjoyment of bodily pleasures is
within the reach of anybody, of a slave no less than
the best of men; but no one supposes that a slave
can participate in happiness, seeing that he cannot
even participate in our life. For indeed happiness
does not consist in pastimes of this sort, but in the
exercise of virtue, as we have already said.
1 7. But if happiness be the exercise of virtue, it is of the
reasonable to suppose that it will be the exercise of ma^h^^
the highest virtue ; and that will be the virtue or f<^V»^'il
excellence of the best part of us.
Now, that part or faculty — call it reason or what
' you wiU — ^which seems naturally to rule and take
the lead, and to apprehend things noble and divine—
* rh orvoviaTd, It is impossible to convey in a translation the
play upon the words (nrovS^ and cirovdaios : fnrovd'fi is earnestness ;
cirovdaios usually = good : here, however, avovdaTos carries both
senses, earnest or serious, and good.
J
338 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLB. [Bk. X.
whether it be itaelf divine, or only the divinest part
of us — ia the faculty the exercise of which, in its
proper exceUence, will be perfect happiness.
That this consists in speculation ^r contemplation
we have already said.
This conclusion would seem to agree both with 2
what we have said above, and with known trutha
This exercise of faculty must be the highest pos-
sible ; for the reason is the highest of our £Ebcidties,
and of all knowable things those that reason deals
with are the highest.
Again, it is the most continuous ; for speculation
can be carried on more continuously than any kind
of action whatsoever.
We think too that pleasure ought to be erne of the 3
ingredients of happiness ; but of all virtuous exercises
it is allowed that the pleasantest is the exercise of
wisdom.* At least philosophy t is thought to have
pleasures that are admirable in purity and stead-
fastness; and it is reasonable to suppose that the
time passes more pleasantly with those who possess,
than with those who are seeking knowledge.
Again, what is called self-sufficiency will be most 4
of all found in the speculative life. The necessaries
of life, indeed, are needed by the wise man as well
as by the just man and the rest; but, when these
have been provided in due quantity, the just man
further needs persons towards whom, and along with
whom, he may act justly ; and so does the temperate
and the courageous man and the rest; while the
* ^ Korit rV (TO<pi<w iy4py€ia, the contemplation of abBolote truth,
f The search for this tmth.
7, 2-70 CONCLUSION. 339
wise man is able to speculate even by himself, and
the wiser he is the more is he able to do thia He
could speculate better, we may confess, if he had
others to help him, but nevertheless he is more self-
sufOcient than anybody else.
6 Again, it would seem that this life alone is desired
solely for its own sake ; for it yields no result beyond
lEe^Contemplation itself, while from all actions we
get something more or less besides the action itself.
6 Again, happiness is thought to imply leisure ; for
we toil in order that we may have leisure, as we
make war in order that we may eiyoy peace. Now,
the practical virtues are exercised either in politics
or in war; but these do not seem to be leisurely
occupations : —
War, indeed, seems to be quite the reverse of
leisurely; for no one chooses to fight for fighting's
sake, or arranges a war for that puq)ose : he would
be deemed a bloodthirsty villain who should set
friends at enmity in order that battles and slaughter
might ensue.
But the politician's life also is not a leisurely
occupation, and, beside the practice of politics itself,
it- brings power and honours, or at least happiness, to
himself and his fellow-citizens, which is scanething
different from politics ; for we {who are asking what
happiness is] also ask what politics is, evidently
implying that it is something different from happi-
7 The life of the statesman and of the soldier, then,
though they surpass all other virtuous exercises in
nobility and grandeur, are not leisurely occupations.
340 NICOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
and aim at some ulterior end, and are not desired
merely for themselves.
But the exercise of the reason seems to be superior
in seriousness (since it contemplates truth), and to
aim at no end beside itself, and to have its proper
pleasure (which also helps to increase the exercise) ;
and its exercise seems further to be self-sufficient, and
leisurely, and inexhaustible (as far as anything human
can be), and to have all the other characteristics that
are ascribed to happiness.
This, then, will be the complete happiness of man,
i,e. when a complete term of days is added; for
nothing incomplete can be admitted into our idea of
happiness.
But a life which realized this idea would be some- 8
thing more than human; for it would not be the
expression of man's nature, but of some divine element
in that nature — the exercise of which is as far supe-
rior to the exercise of the other kind of virtue \i,e.
practical or moral virtue], as this divine element is
superior to our compound human nature.*
K then reason be divine as compared with man,
the life which consists in the exercise of reason will
also be divine in comparison with human life. Never-
theless, instead of listening to those who advise us as
men and mortals not to lift our thoughts above what
is human and mortal, we ought rather, as far as pos-
sible, to put off our mortality and make every effort
to live in the exercise of the highest of our faculties ;
for though it be but a small part of us, yet in power
and value it far surpasses all the rest.
* f .0. our nature as moral agents, as oomponnds of reason and
desire.
7, 8-8, 3.] CONCLUSION. 341
And indeed this part would even seem to constitute
our true self, since it is the sovereign and the better
part. It would be strange, then, if a man were to
prefer the life of something else to the life of his true
self.
Again, we may apply here what we said above —
for every being that is best and pleasantest which
is naturally proper to it. Since, then, it is the reason
that in the truest sense is the man, the life that
consists in the exercise of the reason is the best and
pleasantest for man — and therefore the happiest
1 8. The life that consists in the exercise of the ofthepr
tiMLl life
other kind of virtue is happy in a secondary sense ; ^F^^
for the manifestations of moral virtue are emphati- »«»»«.««;
•*■ the rdatt
caUy human [not divine]. Justice. I mean, and ^^^
p. courage, and the other moral virtues are displayed in ?JJ^^
\ our relations towards one another by the observance,
in every case, of what is due in contracts and ser-
vices, and all sorts of outward acts, as well as in our
inward feelings. And all these seem to be emphati-
cally human affairs.
2 Again, moral virtue seems, in some points, to be
actually a result of physical constitution, and in many
points to be closely connected with the passions.
3 Again, prudence is inseparably joined to moral
virtue, and moral virtue to prudence, since the moral
virtues determine the principles of prudence,* while
prudence determines what is right in morals.
But the moral virtues, being bound up with the
* ♦.& the prineiples of morals cannot be proved, but are accepted
without proof bj the man whose desires are properly trained. Cf.
au^pra, I. 4^ 6.
842 NIOOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ABISTOTLK [Bk. X.
passions, must belong to our compound nature ; and •
the virtues of the compound nature are emphatically
human. Therefore the life whidi manifests them,
and the haj^iness which consists in this, must be
emphaticaUy human.
But the happiness which Consists in the exercise of
the reason is separate from the lower nature. (So
much we may be allowed to assert about it : a detailed
discussion is beyond our present purpose.)
Further, this happiness would seem to need but a 4
small supply of external goods, certainly less than the
moral life needs. Both need the necessaries of life to
the same extent, let us say ; for though, in fact, the
politician takes more care of his pers<Hi thsoi the
philosopher, yet the difference will be quite incon-
siderable. But in what they need for their activities
there will be a great difference. Wealtihi will be
needed by the liberal man, that he may act liberally ;
by the just man, that he may discharge his obliga-
tions (for a mere wish caamot be tested, — even
unjust people pretend a wish to act justly); the
courageous maa wiU need strength if he is to execute
any deed of courage ; and the temperate man liberty
of indulgence, — ^for how else can he, or the possessor of
any other virtue, show what he is ?
Again, people dispute whether the purpose or the 5
action be more essential to virtue, virtue being under-
stood to imply both. It is plain, then, that both are
necessary to completeness. But many things are
needed for action, and the greater and nobler the
action, the more is needed.
On the other hand, he who is engaged in specula- 6
8, 4-7.] CONCLUSION. 343
tion needs none of these things for his work ; nay, it
may even be said that they are a hindrance to
speculation: but as a man living with other men,
he chooses to act virtuously; and so he will need
things of this sort to enable him to behave like a
man.
r That perfect happiness is some kind of speculative
activity may also be shown in the foUowing way :—
It is always supposed that the gods are, of all
beings, the most blessed and happy ; but what kind
of actions shall we ascribe to them ? Acts of justice ?
Surely it is ridiculous to conceive the gods engaged
of courage ? Can we conceive them enduring fearful
things and fa<;ing danger because it is noble to do
80 ? Or acts of liberality ? But to whom are they to
give ? and is it not absurd to suppose that they have
money or anything of that kind ? And what could
acts of temperance mean with them? Surely it
would be an insult to praise them for having no evil
desires. In short, if we were to go through the
whole list, we should find that all action is petty and
unwodihy of the goda
And yet it is universally supposed that they live,
and therefore that they exert their powers ; for we
cannot suppose that they lie asleep like Endymion.
Now, if a being Uves, and action cannot be
ascribed to him, stiU less production, what remains
I but contemplation ? It follows, then, that the divine
life, which surpasses all others in blessedness, consists
in contemplation.
Of all modes of human activity, therefore, that
i
[
I
3i4 NIOOMAOHEAN ETHICS OF AEISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
which is most akin to this will be capable of the
greatest happiness.
And this is further confirmed by the fact that the a
other animals do not participate in happiness, being
quite incapable of this kind of activity. For the life
of the gods is entirely blessed, and the life of man is
blessed just so far as he attains to some likeness
of this kind of activity ; but none of the other animals
are happy, since they are quite incapable of con-
templation.
Happiness, then, extends just so far as contempla-
tion, and the more contemplation the more happiness
is there in a life, — ^not accidentally, but as a necessary
accompaniment of the contemplation; for contem-
plation is precious in itself.
Our conclusion, then, is that happiness is a kind of
speculation or contemplation.
But as we are men we shall need external good 9
fortune also : for our nature does not itself provide aU
that is necessary for contemplation ; the body must
be in health, and supplied with food, and otherwise
cared for. We must not, however, suppose that
because it is impossible to be happy without external
good things, therefore a man who is to be happy will
want many things or much. It is not the super-
abundance of good things that makes a man inde-
pendent, or enables him to act ; and a man may do 10
noble deeds, though he be not ruler of land and sea.
A moderate equipment may give you opportunity for
virtuous action.
It is easy to find illustrations of this. Private
persons seem to do what is right not less, but rather
8, 8-lS.] CONCLUSION. 345
more, than princes. And so much as gives this oppor-
tunity is enough ; for that man's life will be happy
who has virtue and exercises it.
11 Solon too, I think, gave a good description of the
happy man when he said that, in his opinion, he was
a man who was moderately supplied with the gifts of
fortune, but had done the noblest deeds, and lived
temperately ; for a man who has but modest means
may do his duty.
Anaxagoras also seems to have held that the
happy man was neither a rich man nor a prince ; for
he said that he should not he surprised if the happy
man were one whom the masses could hardly believe
to be so; for they judge by the outside, which is
all they can appreciate.
L2 The opinions of the wise, then, seem to agree with
our theory. But though these opinions carry some
weight, the test of truth in matters of practice is
to be found in the facts of life ; for it is in them that
the supreme authority resides. The theories we have
advanced, therefore, should be tested by comparison
with the facts of life; and if they agree with the
facts, they should be accepted, but if they disagree
they should be accounted mere theories.
13 But, once more, the man who exercises his reason
and cultivates it, and has it in the best condition,
seems also to be the most beloved of heaven. For
if the gods take any care for men, as they are thought
to do, it is reasonable to suppose that they delight
in that which is best in man and most akin to them-
selves (i,e, the reason), and that they requite those
who show the greatest love and reverence for it, as
846 KIGOMAGHEAK ETHICS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
caring for that which is dear to themselves and doing
rightly and nobly. But it is plain that all these
points are found most of all in the wise man. The
wise man, therefore, is the most bekryed of heaven ;
and therefore, we may conclude, the happiest.
In this way also, therefore^ the wise man will be
happier than any one else.
Wow is the 9. Now that we have treated (sufficiently, though i
rea,iz€dT summarily) of these matters, and of the virtues, and
also of fiiendship and pleasure, are we to suppose that
we have attidned the end we proposed ? Nay, surely
the saying holds good, that in practical matters the
end is not a mere speculative knowledge of what is
to be done, but rather the doing of it It is not 2
enough to know about virtue, then, but we must
endeavour to possess it and to use it, or to take any
other steps that may make us good.
Now, if theories alone were sufficient to make 3
people good, th^y would deservedly receive many
and great rewards, to use the words of Theognis ; but,
in fact, it seems that though they are potent to guide
and to stimulate liberal-minded young men, and
though a generous disposition, with a sincere love of
what is noble, may by them be opened to the in-
fluence of virtue, yet they are powerless to turn the
mass of men to goodness. For the generality of men 4
are naturally apt to be swayed by fear rather than
by reverence, and to refrain from evil rather because
of the punishment that it brings than because of its
own foulnesa For under the guidance of their
passions they pursue the pleasures that suit th^ir
nature and the means by which those pleasures may
/
J
9, 1-8.] CONCLUSION. 347
be obtained, aootd avoid the opposite pains, while of
that which is noble and truly pleasant they have not
even a conception, as they have never tasted it.
5 /what theories or arguments, then, can bring such
m^i as these to order? Siu*ely it is impossible, or
at least very diflScult, to remove by any argument
what has long been ingrained in the character. For
my part, I think we must be well content if we can
get some modicum of virtue when all the circum-
stances are present that seem to make men good.
B Now, what makes men good is held by some to
be nature, by others habit [or training], by others
instruction.
As for the goodness that comes by nature, it is
plain that it is not within our control, but is bestowed
by some divine agency on certain people who truly
deserve to be called fortunate.
As for theory or instructicm, I fear that it cannot
avail in all cases, but that the hearer^s soul must be
prepared by training it to feel delight and aversion
on the right occasions, just as the soil must be pre-
J pared if the seed is to thrive. For if Qe lives imder
the sway of his passions, he will not nsten to the
arguments by which you would dissuade him, nor
even understand them. And when he is in this state,
how can you change his mind by argument ? To
put it roundly, passion seems to yield to force only,
( and not to reason. The character, then, must be
» already * formed, so as to be in some way a^^^ ^
virtue, loving what is noble and hating wh^^ • ^ "base.
• But to get right guidance from youtlx -i Vo- ^^
* Before theory or instruction can be any V
348 NIGOMAGHEAK ETHIGS OF ABISTOTLE. [Bk. X
road to virtue is hard, unless we are brought up
under suitable laws ; for to live temperately and re-
gularly is not pleasant to the generality of men,
especially to the young. Our nurture, then, should
be prescribed by law, and our whole way of life ; for
it will cease to be painful as we get accustomed to it.
And I venture to think that it is not enough to get 9
proper nurture and training when we are young, but
that as we ought to carry on the same way of life
after we are grown up, and to confirm these habits,
we need the intervention of the law in these matters
also, and indeed, to put it roundly, in our whole life.
For the generality of men are more readily swayed
by compulsion than by reason, and by fear of punish-
ment than by desire for what is noble.
For this reason, some hold that the legislator l(
should, in the first instance, invite the people and
exhort them to be virtuous because of the nobility
of virtue, as those who have been well trained
will listen to him; but that when they will not
listen, or are of less noble nature, he should apply
correction and punishment, and banish utterly those
who are incorrigible. For the good man, who takes
what is noble as his guide, will listen to reason, but
he who is not good, whose desires are set on pleasure,
must be corrected by pain like a beast of burden.
And for this reason, also, they say the pains to be
applied must be those that are most contrary to the
pleasures which the culprit loves.
As we have said, then, he who is to be good must u
be well nurtured and trained, and thereafter must
•continue in a like excellent way of life, and must never.
9, 9-U.] CONCLUSION. 349
either voluntarily or involuntarily, do anything vile ;
and /this can only be effected if men live subject to
some kind of reason and proper regimen, backed by
force. '
12 Now, the paternal rule has not the requisite force
or power of compulsion, nor has the rule of any
individual, unless he be a king or something like
one; but the law has a compulsory power, and at
the same time is a rational ordinance proceeding from
a kind of prudence or reason.* / And whereas we
take offence at individuals who oppose our inclina-
tions, even though their opposition is right, we do
not feel aggrieved when the law bids us do what is
right. '
13 But Sparta is (with a few exceptions) the only
state where the legislator seems to have paid atten-
tion to the nurture and mode of life of the citizens.
In most states these matters are entirely neglected,
and each man lives as he likes, ruling wife and
children in Cyclopean fashion, f '
14 It would be best, then, that the regulation of
these matters should be undertaken and properly
carried out by the state, and that individuals shoidd
be able to render this service to the community ; but
as the state neglects it, it would seem that we should
each individually help (or at least, try to help) our
own children or friends on the road to virtue. J
Now, it would seem from what has been said that
to enable one to do this the best plan would be to
learn how to legislate. For state training is carried
on by means of laws, and is good when the laws are
• Cf. TI. 8, I'd. t Of' Horn. Od. ix. 114. J Cf. I. «, B. •
350 NIOOMACHEAK ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
good; but it woidd seem to make no difference
whether the laws be written or unwritten, nor wiiether
they regulate the education of one person or many,
any more than it does in the case of music, or gym-
nastics, or any other course of training. For as in
the state that pre^^B which is ordained by law ^md
custom, so in the household that which is ordained
by the word of the father of the family and by
custom prevails no less, or even more, because of the
ties of kinship and of obligation ; for affection anid
obedience are already implaxited by nature in the
members of the fanuly.
Moreover, ui spite of what has just b^n said, ii
individual treatment is better than treatment by
masses, in education no leas than in medicina As a
general xtde, repose and fia^sting are good for a fever
patient, but in a particular case they may not be
good. A teacher of bo;sing, I suppose, does not re-
commend every one to adopt the same style. It
would seem, then, that individuals are educated more
perfectly under a system of private education; for
then each gets more precisely what he needs.
But you will best be able to treat an individual
case (whether you are a doctor, or a trainer, or any-
thing else) when you know the general rule, " Such
and such a thing is good for all men," or " for all of a
certain temperament;" for science is said to deal,
and does deal, with that which is common to a
number of individuals.
I do not mean to deny that it may be quite pos- 16
sible to treat an individual weU, even without any
scientific knowledge, if you know precisely by ex-
9, 15-18.] OONCLUfilON, 351
perience tke effect of particular eauses upon him,
JTist as some men seem to be able to treat themselves
better than any doctor, though they would be quite
unable to prescribe for another person.
But, nevertheless, I venture to say that if a man
wishes to master any art, or to gain a scientific know-
ledge of it, he must advance to its general principles,
and make himself acquainted with them in the
proper method; for, as we have said, it is with
xmiversal propositions that the sciences deal.
L7 And so I think that he who wishes to make men
better by training (whether mitny or few) should
try to acquire the art or science of legislation, sup-
posing that men may be made good by tbe iflgency of
law. For fairly to mould the chaj'ftcter of any
person 4ihat may present himself is not a thing that
can be done by anybody, but (if at aU) only by him
who has knowledge, just as is the case in medicine
and other professions where careful treatment and
prudence are required.
18 Our next business, th^Q, I think, is to inquire
from whom or by what means we are to learn the
science or art of legislation.
^'As we learn the other arts," it will be said, —
" i,e, from the politicians who practise it : for we found
that legislation is a part of poKtios."
But I think the case is not quite the same with
politics as with the other sciences and arts. For in
other cases it is plain that the same people eommuni-
cate the art and practise it, as physicians and painters
do. But in the case of politics, while the sophists pro-
fess to teach the art, it is never they that practise itj
352 NICOMAOHEAN ETmOS OF AEISTOTLB. [Bk. X.
but the statesmen. And the statesmen would seem to
act by some instinctive faculty, proceeding empirically
rather than by reasoning. For it is plain that they
never write or speak about these matters (though
perhaps that were better than making speeches in the
courts or the assembly), and have never communi-
cated the art to their sons or to any of their friends, li
And yet we might expect that they would have
done so if they could ; for they could have left no
better legacy to their country, nor have chosen any-
thing more precious than this power as a possession
for themselves, and, therefore, for those dearest to
them.
Experience, however, seems, we must allow, to b^
of great service here; for otherwise people would
never become statesmen by familiarity with politics.
Those who wish for a knowledge of statesmanship,
then, seem to need experience [as well as theory].
But those sophists who profess to teach states- 20
manship seem to be ludicrously incapable of fulfilling
their promises: for, to speak roundly, they do not
even know what it is or what it deals with. If they
did know, they would not make it identical with
rhetoric, or inferior to it, nor would they think it
was easy to frame a system of laws when you had
made a collection of the most approved of existing
laws. " It is but a matter of picking out the best,"
they say, ignoring the fact that this selection requires
understanding, and that to judge correctly is a matter
of the greatest difficulty here, as in music. Those
who have special experience in any department can
pass a correct judgment upon the result, and under-
V
^ 19-28.] CONCLUSION. 353
^■Mand bow and by what means it is produced, and
^H^bat combinations are barmonious; but those who
have no special experience must be content if tbey
are able to say whether the result is good or bad — as,
for instance, in the case of painting. Now, laws are
^tJle work or result, so to speak, of statesmanship.
■How then could a collection of laws make a man ablp
to legislate, or to pick out the best of the collection ?
21 Even the art of healing, it seems, can not be
taught by compendia. And yet the medical com-
pendia try to tell you not only the remedies, but how
to apply them, and how to ti-eat the several elaases of
patients, distinguishing them according to their tem-
perament. But all this, though it may be serviceable
»to those who have experience, would seem to be quite
oseless to those who know nothing of medicine.
So also, I think we may say, collections of laws
and constitutions may be very serviceable to those
who are able to examine them with a discriminating
eye, and to judge whether an ordinance is good or
kbad, and what ordinances agree with one another;
but if people who have not the trained faculty go
through such compendia, they cannot judge properly
(unless indeed a coiTect judgment comes of itself),
though tbey may perhaps sharpen their intelligence
in these matters,
22 Since then our predecessors have left this matter
of legislation uninvestigated, it will perhaps be better
ourselves to inquire into it, and indeed into the
» whole question of the management of a state, in order
Fthat our philosophy of human life may be completed
I to the best of our power.
2 a
354 NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. [Bk. X.
Let US try, then, first of all, to consider any valu- 23
able utterances that our predecessors have made upon
this or that branch of the subject; and then, look-
ing at our collection of constitutions, let us inquire
what things tend to preserve or to destroy states, and
what things tend to preserve or destroy the several
kinds of constitution, and what are the causes of the
good government of some states and the misgovem-
ment of others : for when we have got an insight
into these matters we shall, I think, be better able to
see what is the best kind of constitution, and what is
the best arrangement of each of the several kinds ;
that is to say, what system of laws and customs is
best suited to each.
Let us begin thea*
* The work to which this conclusion forms a preface is the
Politics of Aristotlei still extant, but in an incomplete state.
THE E\D./^
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